


The Princes of Gotham

by Lady_of_Lorule



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: AU, Assassin Damian Wayne, Batbrothers (DCU), Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne is Owlman, Dark, Dark Batfamily (DCU), Dark Titans (DCU), Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson-centric, F/M, Gen, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Kinda, M/M, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Alternating, Politics, Polyamory, Tim Drake is Robin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Lorule/pseuds/Lady_of_Lorule
Summary: Dick Grayson is eight when he is adopted by Bruce Wayne after killing Tony Zucco. Instead of becoming a superhero, Dick and his brothers become known as the Princes, feared assassins and crime lords working under Owlman. Slowly, they've been working against the Justice League, sabotaging and turning people against them, recruiting the Teen Titans to them, and they're getting ready to deliver the final blow...A dark Batfam AU
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jonathan Kent, Garth/Dick Grayson/Roy Harper/Donna Troy/Wally West, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Justice League & Teen Titans (DCU), Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 60
Kudos: 435





	1. The Beginning

**The Past**

Wally fell in love with Dick Grayson when he was twelve.

It was an accident that they even met. Wally had been testing his new powers behind his uncle’s back and ended up in Gotham, exhausted, hungry, and very, very alone. Even at that young age, he knew all the stories about Gotham. He knew that this was a city of shadows and secrets and death, and standing in it, he could _feel_ the malevolent energy of the city thrumming around him. It was terrifying, and he considered calling his uncle, but he held back. He knew Barry would be _pissed_ if he admitted he was in Gotham.

He just needed some food. Some food so that he could run back to Keystone and then pass out for a whole day.

So Wally started wandering down the dark alleys of Gotham’s underbelly, wishing that his hair were any other color than bright red as he saw heads turning his way. At least he was in civvies and not his uniform, though. _That_ would have been a disaster.

He was starting to think he would escape without incident when he noticed two dark figures trailing him. Too tired to run, he picked up the pace as much as his sore feet would allow. Then two more figures were in front of him, cutting him off and he knew he was in deep trouble. He froze, calculating the distance, trying to summon some lightning back into his veins, readying himself for one final, desperate dash.

As the four men closed in around Wally, a shadow dropped from the roof, landing in front of the lost boy. Wally barely had time to make out more than dark hair before the newest figure launched himself at the four men.

Wally felt like only a second had passed when the last of the men fell, blood washing over the dirty concrete and splattering on his tattered running shoes. His tired mind struggled to comprehend what he had just seen, but then words washed over him.

“You’re clearly not from around here.”

Wally blinked, staring as he finally got a good look at his savior as the figure straightened up, cleaning a knife on the coat of one of the fallen men.

It was a boy, no older than Wally. He moved with a fluidity that was hard to describe. His hair was midnight dark, curling around his face and framing his deep, blue eyes. He wore an outfit that looked military grade, all black and perfectly fitted to his lithe frame. He was the most beautiful thing Wally had ever seen, even when blood speckles on his cheek, which didn’t seem to bother him.

“I got lost,” Wally said, even though he wanted to tell this boy how beautiful he was.

“I know. I’ve been following you since you got here.” He sheathed his knife with an ease that suggested familiarity. “It’s not often we get speedsters in Gotham.”

“You know—”

“That you’re Kid Flash? Yes. It’s kind of obvious. Which means you probably need to get home to your uncle soon, right?”

“W-what?”

He rolled his eyes. “I know that your uncle is the Flash. And I know your name, Wally West.”

“Dude, don’t just say that where anyone can hear you!” Wally snapped, looking around for any creeping eavesdroppers.

The boy laughed. “Relax. No one can hear me. Everyone knows not to cross me.”

Wally stared at him. The boy stared back, face calm and serious. Wally’s neck prickled, and he looked down at the four bodies, noticing for the first time that the blood was still flowing and their chests weren’t rising. His stomach clenched and he stumbled back.

“You killed them,” he mumbled, unable to tear his eyes away from the corpses.

Suddenly the boy was in front of him again, a hand reaching for his cheek and for some reason he didn’t move away from it.

“They were rapists. I’ve been following them for weeks,” he said, and for the first time Wally noticed his accent, which was subtle, softening the hard sounds and adding a sweet lilt to his words. He thought it might be European, but he couldn’t place it beyond that. “That’s how I found you. I promise, they deserved it.”

“It’s not right.”

The boy considered that, then shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I can tell you that in Gotham, this is the only kind of justice that matters. The cops probably would have just let them go free again. They were going to kill you, though, and I chose to kill them instead. You’re alive because of that, and who knows how many other people I just saved.”

“You think you’re a savior?” 

Wally felt torn in two different directions. On one end he could hear Barry telling him that killing was wrong, no matter what, that they had to trust in the law and the justice system. He could hear his family telling him that everyone could reform. And on the other end he saw this boy’s alluring eyes and confusing sincerity. He really believed that those men had deserved to die, and Wally was having trouble arguing against that when those men had been about to kill him, a twelve year old, lost in a strange city.

“I don’t think I’m a savior, and I’m not trying to be,” the boy answered, not looking away, not hiding behind minced words. Owning it. “I think those men didn’t deserve to live so I killed them, and I don’t regret it.”

Wally wasn’t sure why, but he found himself caring less and less about the bodies cooling at their feet, and more about this boy.

“I don’t know your name,” Wally whispered.

“I’m Dick Grayson.” Slim fingers were interlacing with Wally’s and then he was being led down the alley, into the light. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat.”

“...Okay.”

* * *

Donna Troy and Garth were thirteen when they fell in love with Dick Grayson.

It had been Donna’s idea to form a team of heroes for themselves, separate from the long shadow of their mentors. Garth and Wally had latched onto it enthusiastically, and thus the Teen Titans were born. Wally only had one request.

“I have this friend...could I invite him to be on the team?”

“Friend? Who is this friend? Do we know him?” Garth had asked.

“Not yet. But I think you’re going to love him.”

A week later Wally brought along a dark-haired boy to their headquarters. By the time the sun set, Donna and Garth both begged Dick to join their team. The boy smiled and accepted.

The Amazonian and the Atlantean weren’t dumb. They knew that sometimes, when Dick was fighting, he inflicted more injuries than were necessary. They knew that it wasn’t his charm that got hostages singing. They knew that the dead cult leaders and mob bosses they left in their wake weren’t an accident, like they told the League. They knew.

And they didn’t care.

How could they, when Dick had saved their lives countless times? How could they when he was so beautiful and free and alive? How could they when being around him made all of them happy, like they’d been graced with the presence of a god?

Diana and Arthur visited one time, took their charges aside and explained in a watered down version the situation in Gotham.

They told their young charges about a man named Bruce Wayne, who was revered as a philanthropist during the day and was feared by anyone smart at night. They told them that Wayne was really a mob boss, a true villain who controlled the underworld of the East Coast, and possibly beyond, but even the League couldn’t prove that. They told them that Wayne had children, orphans adopted under suspicious circumstances, known as the Princes, and that the oldest, Richard Grayson-Wayne, was just as feared as his father.

Donna and Garth had looked their mentors in the eyes and said quite clearly that they didn’t care, and if the League tried to mess with Dick, the Titans would fight them.

* * *

Roy Harper was fourteen when he fell in love with Dick Grayson.

Somehow, he stumbled into a mission the Titans were on and got invited to join them. He’d met Donna before, through their mentors, and he’d heard of the others. Ollie had gone on more than one rant about the team of teen superheroes, particularly the one code-named Robin, who Ollie had also told him was really Dick Grayson, the Prince of Gotham, the heir apparent to the biggest mob family in the United States, at least.

So, naturally, Roy was curious and accepted the Titans invite to help out. His first impression was that Dick Grayson seemed normal, or as normal as teenage superheroes get. His second impression was that there was nothing normal about him.

The other three orbited around him in a way that didn’t make sense. He was the only one without phenomenal superpowers, yet he was clearly the leader, but it was more than that. The way they all took any chance they had to brush against him, whether it was shoulders or hands or legs, and the way Dick always rewarded that person with a smile. Roy watched as Wally rested a hand on Dick’s shoulder to get that smile in return, and something in his chest tightened.

He...wanted that. That look of love and trust and respect and other things that he couldn’t quite name, all the things that no one had given him so freely, not even Ollie.

Then Wally was zooming away and Dick was looking at him with those blue eyes that were too smart, too cunning, and too bright, and saying, “Ready, Speedy?”

Roy shook off the weird longing and grinned back, snapping his bow into formation. “Lead the way, Robin.”

They stormed into the hideout together. Donna and Garth were both already inside, occupied with about four assailants each, but the two humans didn’t pause to help them. They knew that the Amazonian and the Atlantean had things well under control. A red and yellow flash indicated that Wally was around, although Roy wasn’t sure what Dick had ordered him to do. Either way, the archer and the acrobat were soon hustling down a hallway. Dick tossed a shuriken into the double doors ahead of them and a small explosion went off, pulling the obstacle out of their way and then they were in the main office, where their target was cowering.

Roy didn’t even know the man’s name. The Titans had just assured him that this man was the one responsible for the poisonous batch of drugs circulating through the lower-income neighborhoods of Star City, which had resulted in at least five deaths so far. Looking at him, at the man who looked to be about fifty, with gray hair and a filthy suit, cowering behind his desk, a gun held in his badly-shaking hand, Roy couldn’t help but feel contempt. This man, this sniveling coward, was the one responsible for five needless deaths?

Roy’s arrow flew before the man could pull the trigger and then the gun was clattering out of reach. The man screamed, incoherent begging falling from his trembling lips. Roy kept his bow up, pointed on the man, but he didn’t let loose another arrow.

“Look at how pathetic he is,” Dick said, sidling up alongside Roy, mouth near his ear. A jolt went through him as he realized those words echoed his own thoughts so well.

“He won’t like jail, that’s for sure,” the archer replied, feeling off balance. That was ridiculous. Dick’s proximity shouldn’t be having such a strong effect on him.

“Jail? You think this man will make it to jail?”

“Why wouldn’t he? We caught him, we can hand him over now.”

Dick ran a hand down his arm, until his hand covered Roy’s. “We could. But then what? He goes to trial and his fancy lawyers either get him free or a reduced sentence. Probably less than a decade. And what about the people he killed? What about their families? Where’s the justice for them?”

“Do you really care about justice?” Roy asked, turning his head and finding himself too close to the other boy, to those eyes.

“No. Should I?”

“Maybe. Most people do.”

“Do you?”

Roy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just confused, because your mentor made you think you should, because he does, and so does the League. But that’s just one way of looking at things. Justice is nice and all, but the system doesn’t always work. And the law isn’t the only way to take care of things.”

Roy had had this conversation before. It’d been between himself and Ollie, except that Roy had said what Dick was now saying. Ollie had always told him to trust the police, trust the courts, but how many times had they caught the same villain over and over again? How many times did Belle Reve and Blackgate and Arkham have jailbreaks? How many people had suffered because heroes wouldn’t cross that imaginary line?

“You’re right. He doesn’t deserve to live,” Roy said, releasing a shaky breath.

“So kill him.”

It wasn’t an order or a suggestion or permission. It was a statement, like it was the obvious answer. And as Roy pulled back his arrow, Dick at his back, he realized that it was.

It took two seconds to string and release his bow.

It was funny how easy it was to kill. One arrow, straight through the eye socket and then the man was dead. He couldn’t hurt anyone else. It was that simple.

He turned to face Dick, to say something, although he wasn’t sure what, and it didn’t matter, because before he could even open his mouth, lips were pressing to his and he went along with it because it felt good. So good. He let his bow clatter to the ground so he could bring his hands up to cup Dick’s face, to tilt his head back so he could have better access as he worked Dick’s mouth open.

It was all-consuming and burning and fast. Too soon, they were pulling apart, Roy a bit breathless and Dick laughing. The sound was high and lovely and infectious, until Roy was smiling too, although he wasn’t quite sure why other than he couldn’t help it. And when Dick looked at him now, the brightness of his eyes had reached a fever pitch, like he was burning from the inside out, overflowing with life. Roy just stared at him, no longer needing to kiss or even touch him, as long as he could just look at him like this.

Donna, Wally, and Garth all slid into the room a minute later, their eyes taking in the scene quickly, from the arrow through the head of their target to the bow on the ground to their leader laughing in Roy’s arms. He expected them to get angry, maybe shove him away or demand some explanation but instead they all just smiled, watching Dick with the same fascination Roy had.

Dick pressed one more kiss to Roy’s lips, too quick for the boy to return it, then stepped away, going over to Wally, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Roy stayed where he was, suddenly adrift without Dick by his side.

“We’re done here,” Donna said, stretching out her arms over her head. “Let’s go home.”

“Sounds good,” Garth said, shrugging.

“Let’s order pizza,” Wally suggested.

Donna pulled out her phone. “I’ll order it now so it’s ready by the time we’re back. And I’ll order ten so Wally will leave some for us, this time.” The speedster looked entirely unapologetic.

Dick leaned his head on Wally’s shoulder and looked over at Roy, a content smile tugging at his lips. “You coming?”

He knew he didn’t just mean to the pizza party. He knew that it was an offer to join the Titans, to join them, to join _him._

He picked up his bow. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating weekly. Chapters are posted non-chronologically, so pay attention to the top. I'll always say if the chapter is from the past or present. Please leave kudos and comments!


	2. The Club

**The Present**

“Where is he?” Roy asked tersely, barely audible above the thumping off the music.

Donna raised an eyebrow at him. “Where do you think?”

She jerked her chin towards the center of the dance floor that their balcony overlooked. Roy stepped forward, gripping the rails with white knuckles, and scanned the scene. The flash of multicolored lights and haze of vape smoke obscured parts of the floor, but it didn’t take the archer long to spot him. Dick always found a way to be in the center, and this was no exception.

The Prince of Gotham was sandwiched between Wally and Garth, grinding together in the center of the floor. All the other dancers gave them as much space as possible in the cramped area, as if they subconsciously knew that they shouldn’t get close, that there was a wolf in their midst. Officially, this was an ordinary nightclub, right on the edge of being in the bad part of town, owned by a series of shell companies that were owned by Haly Industries, which was owned by one Richard Grayson-Wayne. Not that anyone knew that, officially, except for the Waynes and the Titans, but just because the cops weren’t aware this was a front didn’t mean that everyone who came here didn’t know.

The nightclub was flooded with a mixture of people every night: those who were oblivious party-goers, looking for a good time in a risque club, and those who wanted an audience with the First Prince. It was rare Dick ever granted an audience, but that didn’t stop people from trying. Even now, Roy could see the petitioners lining up along the walls, watching the dark-haired man grind against his dance partners, a certain desperate look about them that made it obvious that they weren’t here to dance. However, the bouncers held them back. It was for the best. Dick would likely maul them if they interrupted him now.

“You’re tense,” Donna murmured, running a hand up Roy’s arm to rest on his shoulder, moving closer to him until she was flush against his back. “What is it?”

“Cops found Turk’s body in a dumpster yesterday.”

“So? No one’s going to miss Turk Fremunda.”

“It was sloppy disposal. Turk was supposed to stay missing until the deals with the unions were finished.” Roy groaned, tipping his head back to land on Donna’s shoulder. “Such a simple deal. I’m going to kill the idiots who messed this up.”

“This might not be too bad.”

He cracked an eye to look up at her. Her dark hair shone blue and purple under the lights. “How so? Did you miss the part about the cops having the body?”

“It’s not ideal, but the union deal could still happen. The cops will be slightly harder to deal with, but only slightly.” Donna pressed a kiss to his cheek then drew away. He missed her warmth instantly. “I’ll go get Dick. You should have a drink and settle down. This isn’t even close to the worst thing we’ve dealt with.”

She was right. He watched her descend the balcony and slide into the mass of swaying bodies that parted before her like the sea. Garth was the first to notice her, leaning in to whisper in Dick’s ear. A soft smile spread across Roy’s face as Dick whirled around, tugging Donna forward by the waist and kissing her hard. This was the first time Dick had gone dancing in a month and Roy felt like all the headaches about Turk and the unions and the cops were worth it, just to see Dick smiling now.

He watched as Donna said something to Dick, Wally, and Garth, which resulted in them all peering up at the balcony, squinting through the haze to see him. Roy wiggled his fingers in their direction and saw Wally bark a laugh in response. Then the four of them were weaving through the crowd, which was slow going as people surged forward to grab their attention. A few bouncers worked their way into the crowd to help them. Roy stepped away from the rail and headed to the well-stocked mini bar on the balcony beside the lounge, where he poured himself a substantial drink before knocking it back.

“What, none for me?” a teasing voice said from behind him.

Roy turned, leaning against the counter to see Dick with his arm around Donna. Garth and Wally were already flopping onto the long couches, making themselves at home. Both were sweaty and had a hazy look in their eyes, like they were intoxicated, but Roy knew it was just from dancing with Dick, which he knew from personal experience was better than any drugs.

“You don’t drink,” Roy said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Dick shrugged, tugging Donna with him as he collapsed onto a couch next to Wally, who pulled him into his side and pressed a kiss to his neck. The speedster then rolled his head back to grin at Roy.

“You’re late, Harper. What held you? Hot date?”

“Not exactly,” he sighed, moving over to the lounge. He threw himself down next to Garth, who kicked his legs up onto Roy’s lap. “I already told Donna. Turk Fremunda’s body was found by the cops about an hour ago.”

The happy smile slid off of Dick’s face, replaced by cool annoyance. His arm fell away from Donna as he leaned forward. “How?”

“Not sure. The body was in a dumpster down by the docks. As far as I know, the cops stumbled across it by accident. No one called it in or anything. Jay called to tell me. It was one of his kids who watched the cops tape off the area.”

“So where is he?” Donna asked.

“On his way. He was picking up Tim from the Tower.” Wayne Tower, where the third son of Bruce Wayne worked as CEO of Wayne Enterprises, the shining model of progress and goodwill in the hellhole that was Gotham.

“What about Damian?” Dick asked.

“Jay said he called him. They should be here soon.”

He nodded, leaning back. Wally’s broad hand massaged his neck, but the dark-haired man didn’t seem to notice, his gaze distant. Roy wished he could make this setback disappear, as he had done more than once for Dick, but he couldn’t.

The last month had been rough. There had been major unrest in the Gotham gangs as a few banded together to try to topple the Wayne family from their high perch, but the League had also been dealing with a potentially world-ending emergency. The Titans had chosen to help their mentors, but it had torn them up to leave Dick alone. They’d been back for less than a week, but Roy couldn’t forget how empty Dick had looked when they returned. The Titans usually stopped him from getting that bad, but they hadn’t been there. Now, all of them were glued to Dick’s side almost twenty-four seven, pulling him back from that ledge inch by inch.

“Can somebody catch me up? Why is Turk Fremunda’s death a big deal? Who killed him?” Garth asked, purple eyes flicking around their circle.

“Bruce has been working on a deal with the unions,” Dick explained, a furrow between his brows. “Turk was trying to hold tight to his control, so we determined it would be easiest to take him out of the picture. We were planning on Turk’s death being revealed after the deal was finalized, though, so it would look more like an unfortunate accident than a hit.”

“And I killed him.”

Dick was moving before the statement was even finished, going over to his brothers as they reached the balcony, clapping Damian’s shoulder and knocking his head against Tim’s and smiling at Jason.

“I know, Damian,” Dick said, guiding them over to the lounge. “But something must have gone wrong with the clean-up.”

The four Princes of Gotham. Between them, they controlled the criminal element, the illegal trade, the politicians, and the financial sector. Roy had never been sure if Bruce Wayne had known what areas his children would lean towards when he took them in, but it had worked out perfectly. Any weaknesses one of them had was easily filled in by another’s strength. They were a formidable opponent.

Of course, they weren’t Roy’s opponents, so it wasn’t really a problem.

Tim ran the finances, both legal and illegal. At nineteen, Tim was the public face of Wayne Enterprises, ushering the business into a new golden age. He was often on the cover of various magazines and newspapers. Despite his apparent busy life, he was at Dick’s club nearly every night, often with his own gaggle of new Titans, such as Conner Kent, Cassie Sandsmark, Bart Allen, and Stephanie Brown.

Jason ran the streets. He ran everything from the lowest level dealers to the partners running operations all along the East Coast. He had his hand in every drug deal and gang war. Despite that, Roy knew he was also responsible for the orphanages and community centers. Jason may have been a terrifying son of a bitch, but he had a soft spot for kids. That didn’t stop him from taking immense pleasure in killing and torturing adults, though.

Damian was the ace in the sleeve. At only sixteen, he was often underestimated and had no official role in the family business, but he was very active. When someone needed to be silenced or taken out, Damian was called. He took care of things quickly and quietly. He also kept the elite guard in line, those who were trusted with protecting the family in the public eye.

Dick was the seducer. He went to all the shmancy galas and wooed Gotham’s politicians and judges and cops. He had an unnerving talent for pretending to be exactly what he needed to get someone to trust him. He could become a lover, a friend, a supporter, an adversary, whatever was needed to get what his family wanted from them.

Each united in purpose, but uniquely psychotic.

“Who was responsible for clean-up?” Tim asked, ever the businessman. He sat himself in one of the chairs to the side, phone in hand.

“Todd told me he was taking care of it,” Damian said, staying standing. Dick slipped back between Donna and Wally.

“I sent some guys when you called. They’ve handled clean-ups before, there shouldn’t have been a problem.”

“Names?” Tim asked.

Jason took a sip from the tall glass he’d poured himself before answering. Tim nodded and started typing on his phone.

“Has anyone told Father about this?” Damian said.

Jason snorted. “I sure as hell haven’t.”

Dick shook his head. “We can wrap this up ourselves.”

“And if we don’t? Father will not be pleased if this goes poorly and he hears about it from the nightly news.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tim cautioned, eyes flicking up. “I’ll work on how the body ended up in the dumpster instead of the bay, but the body is still a problem. Damian, how exactly did you kill him?”

“I slit his throat.”

“Anything else?”

“What does it matter, Drake?” the youngest snapped, his green eyes burning.

“Because if you didn’t mess up the body too bad, we can send someone in to make it look like the cause of death was something else.”

Roy leaned back, shoulder overlapping with Garth’s as the Princes kept talking about the logistics. He felt his initial panic fading away as they sorted it out down to the minutest detail. Also, he had been fairly certain that Dick had been the one to kill Turk, but it was an entirely different story if Damian had done it; specifically, Roy didn’t care as much. He cared about Dick, and the others loosely, but mostly Dick. Everything else just kind of came along with him.

“Is that everything?” Jason asked finally, perched on the arm of Tim’s chair.

“Yes. I need to go now, I have a conference call with WE’s Tokyo office in an hour,” Tim said, sliding his phone into his pocket as he stood, slinging his blazer back on. “Once I track down your men, who are we sending in?”

“I’ll deal with them myself.”

“I’ll join you, Todd,” Damian said, his teeth bared. “Those incompetent fools nearly ruined my kill.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, psycho, whatever you want.”

Dick sighed. “I was having such a good night.”

Roy leaned forward and cupped the side of his face, looking into those deep blue eyes that seemed faded again. “We can still have some fun tonight.”

“Annnnd, that’s my cue to leave. Enjoy your orgy, Dickhead,” Jason said, knocking back his third drink and standing.

“You’re not staying, Jay?”

“Not tonight. More in the mood to punch someone than sleep with them.”

Dick just blinked at him. Roy knew that those two things felt no different for Dick. Jason was more like Roy; sometimes the only satisfaction was in beating someone down, drawing out their pain until your own receded. Sex was for pleasure and pain was for anger. For Dick, emotions tended to be emotions.

“If you’re sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Jason said, kicking Damian’s leg. “What about you, brat? Need me to walk you out of the club?”

“I don’t need you to take me anywhere, Todd.”

“I’m surprised they even let you in here, considering you’re a baby.”

Damian slid out a knife and then Wally appeared between the two brothers, glaring at them. “Not in here. Take it outside if you really want to brawl.”

Damian eyed the speedster up and down. “I’ve always wanted to test how good your advanced metabolism really is.”

“Damian,” Dick snapped. “Please don’t threaten to torture Wally.”

“Tt.” Despite the dismissive tone, he did sheath the knife. Dick and Bruce were the only people the sixteen year old ever listened to. The eldest and youngest son even lived together in a penthouse nearby when their Father was out of town for more than two weeks.

Roy had never quite understood it, because whereas Dick had a spark of life in him, Damian was like a corpse. As long as the archer had known the one blood son, Damian had been entirely without morals or compassion. He had no love for children or the homeless or anybody, except occasionally his family. The only reason he didn’t simply murder everyone was that he considered it beneath his talent to target all those below him (read: everyone). He killed who his family told him to kill and never thought twice about it.

“Well, I’m out,” Jason said as Wally zipped back to Dick’s side. “Later.”

Rather than take the stairs, he hopped over the railing on the balcony, landing on the floor below. He marched out of the club, already lighting up a cigarette, ignoring all the eyes on him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Richard,” Damian said, nodding at his brother and ignoring all the others. He strode down the stairs a second later, leaving the Titans alone with their leader.

“Finally,” Roy murmured. Donna shot him a look, but Garth and Wally were nodding in agreement.

Dick slumped into Donna’s side and she ran her slim fingers through his tangle of dark hair. “You okay?”

“Thought we were finally catching a break,” he murmured, his words slurring a bit as his accent became more pronounced, as it did when he was tired.

“Your brothers will sort this out,” Wally assured him, grabbing his arm and massaging it. “You know they will.”

“Yeah,” Garth agreed, sliding off the couch. Roy watched him go over to Dick with slight disappointment as he was left alone on the couch. “We can have fun now. Our dance got interrupted.”

The Atlantean then slid to his knees in front of Dick and suddenly Roy didn’t mind so much. With a practiced hand, Garth’s nimble fingers undid the buttons on Dick’s tight leather pants, freeing his cock. Roy felt a jolt in his own member as Dick didn’t move, his head pillowed on Donna’s breasts, his deep blue eyes locked on Garth as he lowered himself until his lips were brushing against Dick’s cock.

Wally swore and Roy grabbed his own cock.

Garth continued his blow job, worshiping the cock as he laved at it, sucking and blowing, his hands running up and down Dick’s legs restlessly. Wally groaned, grabbing a fistful of Garth’s hair and leaning over to suck on Dick’s neck, plastering the pale skin with hickeys. Roy tugged his own cock free and started stroking, drinking in the beautiful sight before him.

Donna cradling him, Garth blowing, and Wally sucking Dick and Roy had a front row seat.

He watched as Dick came apart, pulled in different directions and wrapped in different pleasures, and he knew that he’d chosen the right life.


	3. First Meeting

**The Past**

“Are you going to kill me?” the dark haired boy asked, his voice lilting with a mixed European accent, blood coating his arms and splashed across his face like the face paint he’d worn the first time they’d met.

“No. I’m going to thank you.”

The boy just blinked, holding the blood-covered knife by his side. It was a decorative prop more than an actual weapon, no doubt swiped from the sword swallower at his circus. He’d used it well, though, based on the mutilated body at his feet. Bruce stayed perched in the window so he wouldn’t get bloodstains on his shoes, which also cut off one escape route for the boy.

Richard John “Dick” Grayson. The sole survivor of the Flying Grayson's trapeze act from Haly’s Circus. A runaway from Gotham’s juvenile detention center and now a murderer of one Anthony “Tony” Zucco.

“Zucco was a problem. I’ve been planning to have him disposed of for a while now,” Bruce said, examining the body critically. The boy had drawn it out. The gash to the throat which had been the killing blow had not been his first strike. His torso and face were particularly marked with scarlet slashes. “Did you have a plan for after you killed him?”

“Dispose of the knife in the bay, get clean clothes from the thrift store by the waterfront, and then return to juvie before the day guard retires the night guard,” the boy listed, his deep blue eyes meeting Bruce’s steadily. He seemed unperturbed by being caught in the act.

“You planned this?”

“You already know the answer to that, Mr. Wayne. You’ve had me followed every night for the last two weeks.”

The man raised an eyebrow, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You spotted my tail?”

“Yes. And you can find the man you had on me tonight in an alley off Sixth St. I didn’t leave him alive. I couldn’t risk him interfering with my plans.”

Bruce was impressed by how simply the boy spoke, dispassionate and unmoved, even though he had just killed his parents’ murderer. Blood was beginning to crack on his face as it dried, but he made no move to wipe it away, nor did he make any motion that would have revealed an intent to flee or defend himself.

“You didn’t want my man interfering with your revenge?”

“Zucco needed to die.”

Bruce nodded. “For killing your parents.”

“Yes.”

“And you took your time,” he noted, eyes flicking to the body.

Dick didn’t even bother to look at it. “Yes, I did.”

No denial, no justification, no deflection. He owned it and gave nothing else away. At least, not verbally. Bruce had been in the game long enough to note the quick flash of savage enjoyment in the boy’s eyes. This wasn’t just vengeance. He’d _wanted_ to do it, and he’d wanted to draw it out. It was more than simple blood lust; it was power and control. Bruce knew how addictive that feeling was.

“Now what?”

Dick considered him for a moment before answering. “I go back to juvie. I’ll stay for a while, and then move on.”

“To where? To do what?”

“What do you care?” the boy challenged, meeting his gaze levelly, fearlessly.

“Humor me.”

Dick clearly didn’t like that answer. His grip tightened on his costume-jewel covered knife, but he didn’t look away, and still made no movement that indicated flight. Normally, Bruce would have assumed someone who so blatantly didn’t fear him to either be foolish or suicidal, but he didn’t think that the boy was either of those things. Not when his moves since his parents’ deaths had been so well planned.

“Fine. I was going to hitch a ride out of Gotham.”

“To where?” Bruce repeated, eyes narrowing.

“Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. I like to figure things out as I go.”

“That’s it?”

Dick frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Your parents are dead. You got your revenge. Now you just want to move on? Most kids would mourn, try to get into contact with any family members. Maybe try to get into a good foster home.”

“I’m not most kids,” the boy said, distaste curling at the edge of his lips. “My parents are dead. They’re avenged. I don’t have any other family and I don’t care about getting a new one. I can take care of myself just fine.” Then, Dick tilted his head. “Assuming you’re not going to turn me into the cops in your pocket, Mr. Wayne.”

“I assure you, Mr. Grayson, that I have no intention of doing that. You’re much too interesting to me to have you rot in juvie.”

He meant every word, surprising even himself. It had been a long, long time since another person had captured his interest, and now it was an eight year old acrobat who’d accomplished the feat.

“You were there when they were killed,” Dick said when Bruce didn’t say anything else.

“Yes, I was.”

“You kept tabs on me afterwards. That’s why you had your man tailing me.”

“Yes.”

“Why? What do you want from me, Mr. Wayne?” he finally asked.

Bruce slid out of the window, stepping onto the floor. Alfred could scold him about the bloodstains on his shoes later. He approached the boy, who merely tipped his head back to maintain eye contact, unafraid, coming to a stop mere feet away.

“I would like to offer you a place in my family. I think that there is a lot of potential in you, Dick Grayson. And I think I can hone that potential. Would you like to be a Wayne?”


	4. A New Team

**The Past**

“Um, anyone here?” Superboy, aka Conner Kent, yelled, spinning around in the empty living room of Titans Tower.

Tim Drake-Wayne stayed silent, perched behind a lead beam. He was only the first arrival. He would wait to make his presence known.

Right on cue, a voice called back, “Kon? Is that you?”

The half-Kryptonian spun around. “Cassie? You're here?”

“Yep,” the Amazonian said, dressed in civvies but for the lasso hanging at her side. She strode through the foyer with her trademark determined stride. “I’m guessing you also got the vaguely cryptic yet authentic looking message to come to Titans Tower?”

“Yes, I did. I wasn’t going to come, but…”

“But you were curious.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders, the red emblem of the House of El plastered on his chest. “I’m guessing you were too, if you’re here.”

Then there was a blur and the smell of ozone and then Impulse was standing in the center of the room, pulling his goggles off and eyes darting around. He noticed the other two occupants a moment later and grinned.

“Whoa, you guys got the weird message, too? What’d I miss? Where are the Titans? Is there an emergency, because this place looks really empty? Do you know if anyone else is coming?” the speedster shot off in rapid succession. Tim only caught everything because he was accustomed to Wally’s fast speech.

Conner groaned as Cassie grabbed Bart’s shoulders, shutting him up. “Bart, slow down.”

“Sorry, sorry. Seriously, though, where is everyone and what is going on?”

Well, there wasn’t going to be a better intro than that.

Tim dropped from the rafters, flipping to redirect his momentum just like Dick had taught him. The three heroes snapped into a defensive formation, but wisely didn’t attack. He waited a moment, allowing them to examine him and the familiar, yet modified, uniform he wore.

“You’re not Robin,” Conner said, narrowing his eyes.

“I am. Just not the one you’re thinking of,” Tim replied.

“Are you the one who gathered us here?” Cassie demanded, taking the lead. Her lasso was in hand, glowing hot red. He wasn’t worried.

“Yes.”

“So what is this? Who are you and what the hell do you want from us?”

“My name is Tim Drake-Wayne,” he said, watching as the all coiled tighter at the utterance of that reviled last name. “I  _ am  _ Robin. And this is a meeting I called to offer you all an opportunity.”

Cassie let her whip uncoil, hitting the floor with a sharp noise. “What opportunity?”

“To join the Titans. A newer, younger team.”

At that, he saw the fight leave Bart, replaced by confusion and suspicion. Conner, too, he could see was softening, even as he kept his ready stance. Cassie, though, was not swayed. Exactly as he’d predicted.

“There are already Titans and I’m pretty sure that you’re not one of them.”

He shrugged, the unfamiliar cape falling around him at the motion. He made a mental note to practice in the uniform more. He couldn’t have the cape tripping him up at an inopportune time.

“So we’ll be the Teen Titans, like they were when they started out. And I have permission from the Titans, including your cousin,” he said, nodding towards Bart, “and your ‘sister,’” this was directed at Cassie, who couldn’t mask her shock fast enough to hide it from Tim, “and of course, my brother, who is their leader.”

“Your brother is a murderer,” Cassie snapped, but he could see the cracks in her conviction.

“Can you prove that?”

She glared at him. “Not in a court. Everyone knows, though. Everyone knows that Mirage’s death wasn’t an accident like he claimed, and there were plenty of others.”

Tim tilted his head. “If I remember right, it was Donna Troy, the one who gave you the name ‘Wonder Girl,’ who issued a statement both to the press and to the Justice League that the events that you are referencing were unfortunate mishaps.”

“We don’t believe you,” Conner growled, standing firm next to Cassie.

Tim wasn’t fooled. He took a step forward, savoring the way they all raised their guard in response, even though he was the only one without powers and appeared to be unarmed. He was more convinced than ever that this was a good plan.

“No, you don’t, and I don’t really need you to,” Tim conceded, shocking all three of them. “Because I know that all of your mentors sat you down and told you everything they know about me and my family, yet when I told you my name, you didn’t call them. Superboy, I know you haven’t left because you don’t really care about what my family may or may not have done. I know you probably would work with me just to piss off Superman. I don’t blame you. His heart might be in the right place, but he’s an idiot.”

Cassie and Bart frowned at that, but he could see it in Conner’s face that he’d just won over the half-Kryptonian. Good. He was the one Tim really wanted, needed. His work wasn’t done yet though.

He turned to Bart. “Your grandfather is hard on you, isn’t he? Disapproving, lecturing, mistrusting…”

“You don’t know him,” Bart snapped, but his face told a different story.

“Wally West has been the one who’s there for you. He showed you the ropes, helped adjust you to the past. And he told you an entirely different story about Dick and the Titans and the Waynes than Barry did, and you trust Wally more. Of course you do. Wally’s always been more honest and supportive.”

To that, even the young speedster didn’t have anything to say. Tim observed him for a moment, and then turned to the real challenge. Cassie was still standing tall, despite the cracks in her facade, despite the shift in the tide as Conner and Bart clearly leaned towards Tim and his offer.

He knew what to say. Tim may have come up with the plan to form his own Titans team, but he had gone to his oldest brother for the fine details. Dick was the actor, the charmer. He knew how to change his body language and tone and words to get people to trust him, to want to do whatever he said. Tim had never had the charm or that talent, but with Dick’s help, they’d come up with a script. That, Tim could work with.

“Wonder Girl. You don’t trust me. That’s fine. Wonder Woman is one of the most vocal opponents to the Titans, and I know that that friction has dissolved her relationship with Donna Troy over the years, but I know that you admire them both. You’re torn, and I won’t belittle that. However, I have plans that I think we could both benefit from, so I am extending the invitation again, to all of you. Join me. We’ll make a new Teen Titans team, and do good, on a scale that none of us could accomplish on our own. I’m not going to make you do a blood oath or anything. You’re free to walk away at any time.”

“I’m in,” Conner said with no hesitation.

As predicted. He had a massive inferiority complex when it came to Superman. He’d do anything he thought would piss off the big, blue Boy Scout. Over time, though, Tim was sure he could bend that anger into loyalty, like Dick had done with Roy.

“I’ll try it,” Bart added. Tim nodded, and then the three boys turned to Cassie.

Her jaw was set, eyes narrowed, burning into Tim, but he didn’t react. Bart shuffled in place and Conner watched her sharply, as if expecting her to get violent. Tim was confident it wouldn’t come to that. She wouldn’t be so impulsive.

“Alright, new Boy Wonder,” Cassie said at least. “I don’t trust you, but I trust Donna. In respect for her ties to the Titans, I’ll give this a shot. But if you step out of line, I’m out, and I’ll drag you with me.”

“Then I think it’s official. Welcome to the new Teen Titans.”

He smiled, a carefully practiced expression. Cassie hung up her lasso and the three metas began to talk about the details and arrangements. Tim watched as Cassie started to adjust to thinking of them as a team, despite her reservations. Oh, sure, she had a line, but Tim was determined to show her how flexible that line really was.


	5. The Wayne Gala

**The Present**

_“You fucking bastard!”_

Jason stepped back, blood squirting out of his guest’s shoulder from where he stabbed his knife into the flesh, all the way through to the wall. He fingered his belt, and the array of other delightful tools hanging there, matching the instruments already pinning his guest to the wall by the foot, thigh, arm, and shoulder. He would have to be a bit more conservative going forward, unless he wanted his guest to bleed out before he was properly punished.

_“Fucking bastard, son of a bitch—”_

“Don’t bring my mother into this,” Jason said, leaning his hip against a counter, brushing his hair out of his eyes, unconcerned about the blood he smeared there. “You knew that this was probably going to be the ending when you signed up to spy on my brother. Honestly, you should be thanking me. Damian was going to punish you himself, but I stepped in.”

_“Fucking psycho!”_

He sighed. “Such language. Buddy, this is on you. We could have given you a comfy life if you just did your job, but you got greedy. When Penguin offered to pay you for info, you should’ve called him what you’re calling me.”

The man kept swearing, dropping off in strength and coherence as the blood loss started catching up with him. Or maybe the pain was making him faint. Jason was kind of surprised he’d lasted this long already. He may have gotten a bit overzealous, but it had been awhile since he’d had someone he’d wanted to punish so badly. There was something extra satisfying about killing those who had wronged his family, instead of clearing up the usual lowlifes.

He took another moment to savor the blood pooling on the ground and the ragged, pained pants filling the air.

Jason examined his work. “I don’t think you’ll last the night, if it’s any consolation. Damian definitely would have dragged it out longer. Or maybe he would have fed you to his tigers. I watched him do that to a man once, for trying to rape Dick. It was gross, and painful.”

“You’re insane,” the man whispered, his voice hoarse and congested. Blood dribbled down his lips from the tooth Jason had knocked free a few minutes ago with a casual backhand.

“I mean, yeah. But at least I’m not a fucking idiot, like you.”

Whatever residual strength the man had melted before Jason’s eyes until only the knives were holding him up. He considered taking out the knives to shock him back to consciousness, but then he’d bleed out even faster, and he didn’t want to cut this any shorter. Not when his anger was still simmering inside him, like it had been since he found out that someone had snitched on his baby brother.

Then his phone chimed and he stopped caring about the man entirely. He saw that it was Roy, his favorite of his brother’s harem, before he answered.

“‘Yello?”

“Jay? Man, where are you?”

He frowned, even though Roy couldn’t see him. “At the Cave. Where else?”

“Okay, well your dad is going to kill you if you don’t hurry it down to the Tower.”

“The Tower? Why? Is something up with Timmy?”

Now he knew that Roy was the one frowning. “Jason. Please tell me that you haven’t forgotten about the Wayne Gala. The one that happens on the same day every year that is advertised for weeks as the biggest event of the year. The _literal only event_ that your family mandates you come to.”

“Oh. That. Yeah, actually, I’m on my way now.”

He heard Roy sigh, but then the older man hung up. Whatever. Jason strolled out of the room, his guest forgotten, and headed towards the elevator up from the Cave to the Manor. He was already late, and if Roy had noticed his absence, Bruce most certainly had.

He changed out his plain, blood stained clothes for an expensive dark suit that Alfred had laid out on his bed. As the butler wasn’t there himself, Jason was inclined to think he had driven the family to the Tower already. A grin spread across his face. It seemed that if the limo was taken, his only option was to borrow one of Bruce’s fancy cars. A nice joyride down Gotham’s poorly lit streets was exactly what he needed to make up for the disappointing torture session.

Minutes later he was pulling up haphazardly to the red carpet, stretching from the doors of Wayne Tower all the way to curb, lined with idiotic fans and desperate paparazzi. He heard his name shrieked as he tossed his keys to the valet, running a hand through his dark hair, ignoring the crowd.

He’d been Bruce’s son for years, but he had never come to like this aspect of being a Wayne.

“Mr. Todd! Mr. Todd, over here please!”

“Mr. Todd-Wayne, one photo, one quick photo!”

“Look this way, Mr. Todd!”

He felt his hand moving to the gun stashed in his tux and forced himself to let go. Luckily, Tim spotted him. His younger brother was about halfway down the carpet already, Cassie on one arm and Conner on the other. He watched as Tim whispered something in the blonde’s ear and then extricated himself, striding back down the carpet to Jason.

“Hey, Timmers,” Jason said, flashing a smile.

Cold eyes surveyed him, the perfect mask he’d presented to the press slipping for the moment. Jason didn’t mind. He knew that many people found it unnerving how calculating and unfeeling Tim could be, but to Jason it was preferable to Dick’s unpredictable whirlwind of emotion, switching between mania and detachment at the drop of a pin. It was reassuring. He knew that Tim would always do what was best for himself and his family, regardless of his personal feelings in the matter, if he ever had any.

“You’re late.”

“Seems like you are, too.”

Tim slid his pale hands into his pockets. “I’ve just been on the carpet for a half hour. W.E. needs good press right now because of the Bludhaven deal.”

Ah. “Is everyone inside?” he asked, knowing Tim couldn’t say more than that out in the open.

“Yes. Dick brought everyone, and even Cass came.”

“Really?” Jason asked, flicking up an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Bruce brought her. She’s stayed with Donna all night.”

Interesting. Cassandra didn’t usually attend these things, and being daddy’s little girl, she wasn’t forced to attend like Jason was. He hadn’t even known she was in town, but that wasn’t unusual. Bruce sent her to deal with any international disputes more frequently than anyone else, even Tim.

“I’m heading in. You coming?” the older asked, tilting his head in the direction of the Tower.

“I’ll be up in a few. I need to take a few more pictures with my dates.”

Jason nodded and the two fell in step as they moved down the carpet quickly. Tim nodded before splitting off to rejoin Cassie and Conner, but Jason barreled straight forward, ignoring the cries of the press. He didn’t need to represent the family. Tim and Dick did that just fine.

Barging through the front doors didn’t offer any relief, though. The gala was in full swing, with tuxedoed men and women in bright gowns and glittering jewels littering the foyer and double staircase leading up to the ballroom. He held back a scowl.

“Man, you really don’t like these things, do you?” an amused voice said as a person sidled up against him.

Jason surveyed the redhead’s profile. “No, I don’t. Do you?”

Roy shrugged. At an hour into the gala, his bow was already missing and the top of his shirt was unbuttoned. “No, but I can stand them. Ollie made me suffer through them, and now your brother does. At least the drinks are plentiful and free.”

They walked up the stairs together, Jason barely remembering to nod politely to the people who greeted him. Soon enough they were at the top, where there were even _more_ people. God, he wished he could pull out his guns, give them a _real_ reason to respect him besides his last name.

“Ready, Jaybird?”

He only allowed the nickname because Roy was the first person he had ever liked outside of his family. That didn’t stop him from subtly flipping him off before striding into the ballroom.

If he had thought the foyer was crowded, it was nothing compared to the ballroom. It occupied the entire floor, stretching to the walls on all four sides, with a sea of tables where older, richer than God businessmen and their too-young trophy wives sat; a vast dance floor where the trust fund babies and newly wealthy danced with the hottest models and actors of the season, all sweat and short dresses and grinding; a vast bar where the disgruntled loners and gold diggers mingled as they drowned their sorrows; balconies where the CEOs who never stopped working had stepped out to talk over the roar of the DJ; and, the most important section: where the VIPs lorded over the peasants.

At the far end of the room, past the dance floor, the floor rose up, the steps guarded by two of Jason’s men, dressed to the nines for the night. Past that was a sunken lounge area so that all the attendees couldn’t see who was there. Roy nudged Jason’s shoulder, pushing him into the ballroom, heading straight for the VIP lounge.

As they went, Jason caught sight of Bruce by the bar, two idiotic, beautiful women laughing falsely at whatever he said. Even from a distance Jason could see the disdain and boredom in his eyes, but the women didn’t seem to notice, nor did the doctor who Bruce was presumably trying to talk to before being interrupted. No one at these events ever noticed that there was anything different about the Waynes. They couldn’t see past the net worth. His father saw him, though, even through the crowd, and made no sign of recognition, but Jason knew that his late arrival had been noted.

They moved on, though, and he lost sight of Bruce. Now they were at the dance floor and Roy stepped in front of him to part the crowd. A few hands got a little feely, but Jason reined in the urge to cut those hands off. That would definitely piss off Bruce, and he’d done that enough tonight. As they neared the stairs, Jason caught a flash of black and blue out of the corner of his eye and a smirk graced his face.

“Your boyfriend seems to have someone else’s hands in his pants,” Jason said to Roy. The crowd shifted, but Jason was positive that it had been Dick dirty dancing with...the mayor’s son? The new D.A.? He couldn’t remember, and didn’t actually care.

The archer didn’t even look over at the spectacle. “You’re in a mood tonight.”

Then the guards were moving aside, and the two men walked down into the sunken lounge. Here, Jason found the usual crowd spread across the couches grouped to face the window, offering a perfect spot to spy on the balcony below. Donna, Wally, and Garth were clumped on one couch; Bart, Stephanie, and Cass on another; and on the last couch, Damian was settled with Maya and Jon Kent. Jason did a double take at his littlest brother’s date.

“Did you kidnap Superboy?” Jason demanded.

 _“Tt.”_ Somehow, Damian made that noise sound even more derisive at sixteen years old than he had at thirteen. “I don’t need to resort to such barbaric means to procure dates to these events, unlike you, Todd.”

“You know, you two make me glad that I don’t have any siblings,” Roy remarked, sliding in between Garth and Donna with ease, his arms wrapping around them.

“Seriously, though, what is he doing here and does his dad know he’s here?” Jason asked, sitting on the arm of the couch next to Steph, who absently reached out to pat his knee. She was playing a game on her phone. “Wait. Please tell me _our_ dad knows he’s here.”

“Father is aware,” Damian said, adjusting his cuff. 

Dressed up in a tux, he looked just like a miniature Bruce, but for the darker skin and green eyes. Jason wasn’t accustomed to seeing him in anything but his preferred green and gold assassin armor, and he couldn’t help but think that the kid was too handsome to be sixteen and knew it. In the last year, he’d had quite the growth spurt, and packed on muscle. He could probably pass for twenty-one if Jason didn’t know better. From the way he sat with his legs spread, exuding confidence and ease, he knew he was handsome, too.

“My dad doesn’t own me,” Jon snapped at Jason, and the man raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I came here of my own free will.”

“That’s a ‘no’ on Superman knowing, then.”

“There won’t be any trouble,” Maya said, crossing her ankles. “I helped him leave.”

Jason accepted that. There was a reason her code name was _Nobody._ If anyone could fool Superman, it’d be her.

“That still doesn’t answer why he’s here.”

“I invited him,” Damian replied, gaze cool. Then he turned to Jon, extending a scarred hand. “Come dance, Kent.”

The boy (what was he? Thirteen? Fourteen?) looked shocked, but slid his hand into Damian’s and allowed the youngest Wayne to drag him down to the dance floor. Maya silently got up and walked to the top of the steps, where she could keep an eye on them.

“I think Damian’s trying to make his own Titans team,” Steph said with a grin.

“Well, Titans and Teen Titans are both currently taken, so he’ll have to come up with something else,” Roy quipped.

Wally smiled over at him. “Aw, c’mon, it’s practically a rite of passage for a Robin to recruit impressionable young heroes to the dark side. I’m surprised it’s taken Damian this long.”

“Do you mean recruit or seduce?” Jason asked, meeting the speedster’s eyes.

If he’d been trying to get a rise out of him, it didn’t work. Wally just laughed, tipping his glass in Jason’s direction before downing it in one gulp. Stupid speedsters and their stupid metabolism.

“Isn’t Jason proof that not all Robins form teams?” Donna added.

Eyes snapped his way. He gave a lovely grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

Roy shrugged. “Jay’s always got to be his own man. But Tim modeled his Teen Titans after us. Amazonian,” a tip to Cassie and Donna, “speedster,” Wally and Bart, “superhuman,” Garth and Conner, “and, to round out that rooster, normal person.” Roy himself and Stephanie.

“So what you’re saying is that Damian still needs a speedster and an Amazonian?” Garth questioned.

“I guess. I don’t know where you’d find ‘em, unless there’s another speedster or Amazonian testing out the vigilante career that I hadn’t heard about.”

Bart looked at Wally, who shrugged. Then the younger said, “Unless my grandpa messed with the timeline recently, I don’t think there are any more speedsters.”

“Well, there goes Damian’s plan.”

The conversation was interrupted as Dick and another guy came stumbling into the area, hanging off each other. Jason narrowed his gaze at the way the guy was shamelessly feeling up his brother, leaning in to lick his neck in front of everyone. Dick didn’t seem bothered by it, eyes bright and face relaxed, but based on the way that the Titans were suddenly on edge they weren’t fooled by his performance. 

Yes, Dick was very good at charming and seducing people, but he didn’t usually resort to sex unless it was a desperate case. Usually just the idea that they might get to debauch Dick Grayson, heir to the Wayne Fortune, was enough for most people to be his helpless puppets, but sometimes people got greedy, like this guy, and thought they could take whatever they want on the first date. No one in the family or the Titans would stand for that.

“Did I see Damian dancing with Jonathan Kent?” the first Prince asked, his inky black hair falling in his face, accent a little more pronounced. He must have been drinking, since he didn’t like to sound foreign, especially at these events.

“Roy thinks he’s trying to recruit friends,” Garth said with a sly grin.

“I was theorizing!”

“Does Bruce know?” Dick asked.

“Supposedly,” Jason provided.

“Where’s Tim?”

“Here,” said an exhausted voice, followed by the teen in question. Despite his tone, he looked just as composed as he was on the carpet. Cassie and Conner both trailed in behind him, moving right over to join Bart. Tim, however, chose to throw himself down on the couch Damian and posse had vacated. That’s when he noticed Dick’s hanger-on and he straightened up. “David. I apologize, I didn’t realize you were here as my brother’s date.”

David. David Hull Jr., the mayor’s son, as Jason had suspected. Once he was recognized, the young man flushed and hastily withdrew from Dick. Tim kept a pleasant expression, but his eyes were flat. Jason wouldn’t be surprised if Tim sent out a quiet order to have the young man punished (probably not killed; not yet, at least) for being so handsy. Jason tilted his head in consideration. He might carry out that job himself. It was always more satisfying when it was personal, and he certainly didn’t like how his older brother was being treated.

“I, uh, I was just…” the young man stammered.

“You were going to go wait for me by the bar, weren’t you?” Dick said, sliding a hand up his chest, turning all of his charm onto the flustered man, whose embarrassment only grew worse.

“R-right. That’s what I was doing. Uh, good to see you, Tim.”

Oh. First name. Yeah, that man was definitely getting a visit for the disrespect he’d shown the Wayne family tonight.

“You as well, David. I look forward to working with your father on the Park Row Project. Please do pass along my well wishes,” Tim told him with a bland smile. The man assured him he would and then fled. Tim dropped the pretense, allowing a scowl to cover his face.

“Aw, Timmy, don’t be like that,” Dick purred. The empty spot David had left was already filled by Wally, who wrapped his arms around Dick’s waist. “I was just keeping our relationship with the mayor’s office friendly.”

“He seemed a little _too_ friendly,” Roy muttered.

“That can wait,” Tim said, and Jason knew the look in his eyes. David was not forgotten, simply postponed to fit Tim’s schedule. “Right now, we need to talk about the Bludhaven deal.”

“Shouldn’t Damian be here?” Steph asked, laying a hand on Tim’s arm.

“No. He’s occupying Kent, who isn’t ready to be part of these deals and I don’t trust him to not eavesdrop if he’s not distracted.”

Conner shrugged. “Yeah, Jon should be kept out of this for now.”

Jason peeked over at the dance floor. The youngest Kent did seem to be too distracted to pay any attention to what was going on in the VIP section. Jason had to admit, he never would have guessed that Damian would be any good at dancing or seducing, but the Kryptonian was enthralled, wide-eyed and helpless, caught in the assassin’s web. It was even more interesting, because Jason was tempted to say that Damian was equally interested in the boy, even though he’d never seen his brother express any sort of romantic or sexual feelings before.

“What about the deal, anyways?” Dick said, dropping his head onto Wally’s shoulder. “I thought you already got all the contracts signed.”

“I did. The legal ones. It’s the less legal business that’s encountering difficulties.”

“What kind of difficulties?” Jason said.

His younger brother looked as close to annoyed as he ever got. “Bludhaven seems to have slipped under the control of a man called Blockbuster lately, real name Roland Desmond. He’s taken over the drug trade and wrangled all of the gangs under his control quietly over the last few months. And he has not been receptive to any offers slid his way to let us use Bludhaven’s ports.”

“Kind of sounds like a problem Damian could solve,” Jason replied, eyebrow lifting.

“In the end, that might be our best option, but we have almost no jurisdiction in Bludhaven, despite it being so close. Blockbuster controls the BPD. An assassination might draw all the wrong kinds of attention. At this juncture, I recommend a more subtle approach.”

Dick’s nose wrinkled as he caught Tim’s implication. “You want me to seduce a man named ‘Blockbuster?’ Like the video rental store?”

Steph and Cassie snickered, but Tim remained impassive. “If you think that will work. I don’t care what method you use. He wouldn’t be bribed, but if anyone can change his mind, it’s you. You’re charming. And if charm fails, you have other talents. Bruce has okayed any necessary action. We’ll deal with the fallout if it comes to it.”

The oldest sighed. “At least tell me we have a comfy penthouse in Bludhaven.”

“I have a place there,” Jason offered, grimacing. “You might want to send a cleaning service ahead of you. The last time I used that place...well, let’s just say there may be some bodily fluids left...everywhere.”

“If that’s the case,” Dick said, standing with fluid ease, dragging his hand through his hair, “then I’m going to take advantage of the blood-free penthouse upstairs while I can. I’ll go to Bludhaven tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to schmooze more?”

Jason was surprised. Sure, the Bludhaven deal was important, but Dick usually used these major events to his full advantage, working up to ten people a night. Jason had only seen him with the mayor’s son, though.

Dick shrugged. “The union deal is settled, the courts are in our pocket, and Bruce is entertaining Commissioner Gordon right now. I am going to dance, though. C’mon,” he said, grabbing Roy and Wally’s hands, tugging them up. Donna and Garth rose too, as if they were all connected.

Once the Titans had slipped onto the dance floor, conveniently near where Damian was dancing with Jon Kent, Tim turned back to Jason, who’d thrown himself down on a couch, wishing he were back in the Cave instead of stuck here, listening to bad pop remixes and watching airhead socialites get wasted.

“Did you deal with the snitch?” Tim asked.

Jason snorted. “Course. Well, I was interrupted to come here, but he’s in the Cave. He’ll be in the harbor by morning.” He idly remembered that he would need to send someone to take care of the body. He had no doubts that the man had bled out by now.

“Good. I’ll need to figure out what he passed on to Penguin, though, before this matter is truly resolved.”

“I could do it,” Steph offered.

“No offense, but you tend to end your undercover ops in explosions. I’d like to keep this one quiet.” Tim turned those calculating eyes onto Cass. “How long are you in town before you go back to Hong Kong?”

She shook her head and did the sign language sign for morning. Jason was kind of disappointed. There was no one better at helping with an interrogation or torture session than Cass. The way she could read a body made it so much easier to inflict the most pain with the least chance of death. If he’d known she was only in for one night, he would have called her to help him with the traitor earlier. Also, she was the quietest of his siblings and Jason appreciated that. He’d never liked a lot of chatter while he worked.

“Maybe I’ll ask Damian to loan me Maya,” Tim murmured, entirely in his own head now. Jason could practically see all the calendars and charts and files running through his head. “It may require pushing back the Narrows plan, though…”

“Jesus, Tim, how can you plan literally everything out to the smallest detail without going insane?” he asked, unable to keep it in.

His younger brother met his eyes and shrugged, an oddly casual gesture he’d begun to mimic from Dick. “Who said that I’m not insane?”


	6. Welcome to Bludhaven

**The Present**

“Y’know, when Jason said his place here needed some cleaning, I was picturing a run down warehouse, or a shitty apartment,” Garth said, looking around the spacious living room with black leather couches and an enormous flat screen near a balcony overlooking Bludhaven bay. “This is much better than I was expecting.”

“Bed’s big enough for all of us,” Wally said, zipping back into the room from his inspection and throwing himself onto the couch.

Roy snorted, already raiding the kitchen. “Of course that’s the first thing you checked. Also, why is Jason’s kitchen in an apartment he hasn’t used in months better stocked than yours ever is, Dickie?”

“Don’t be rude,” Donna chided.

“What? I’m honestly curious. He never has anything but cereal in his kitchen. Why do you think we eat out so much?”

Dick ignored his partners as he strode out to the balcony, breathing in the salty air. The grungy, casino city of Bludhaven sprawled along the coastline, alternating between bright, neon casinos and dark slums. Many called this Gotham’s city sister, but in reality the two neighbors rarely overlapped. Bruce usually allowed the lower end illegal trade to go to Bludhaven, while the true cash flowed through Gotham and directly into his pockets.

Blockbuster had changed that. Now this would-be crime lord was a liability, and Dick would take care of him, one way or another.

Despite the potential for a satisfyingly bloody ending, nothing in him sparked to life. Usually the thrill of a gala would last a few days, but he still felt empty. He’d been feeling like that a lot. Like he was a passenger in his own life, playing along to the whims of his family and the business.

Then freckled arms were wrapping around his waist and he was leaning back into a warm chest. Wally’s familiar voice whispered in his ear, “Where are you?”

“What?”

“I know that look in your eyes. You don’t feel like you’re here. So, where are you?”

He sighed as Wally’s warmth seeped into him, hotter than a normal human ran. “Do you remember that beach we got stranded on when we were sixteen?”

“When we fought H.I.V.E.? And Roy accidentally blew up all the boats so we were stuck on the island for three days until the JLA picked up our S.O.S.?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“That’s where your head went? Why? Did you not hear me mention the awesome bedroom?”

“I appreciate how one-track your mind is.”

Wally laughed, breath puffing against his neck. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just excited to get away from your family for a few days.”

Dick’s eyebrows knitted. “What’s wrong with my family?”

“Nothing. But they’ve been keeping you so busy, we haven’t had you to ourselves in a while. Not since we got back, really,” the speedster murmured, referencing the Titans’ foray into space with the League. “You’ve just seemed...distant. Seriously, though, why are you thinking of that island? That was years ago.”

“I know. But it was kind of...nice. I mean, Garth probably could have gotten us help, or Donna might have been able to fly somewhere, but they stayed. We were all together, and for a few days it was like we were the only people in the world.” Dick blew out a breath. “I don’t know. My mind wandered there. I don’t even know why.”

“Maybe we should call it an early night. Break in Jason’s bed. You don’t have anywhere to be for a while, right?”

“No, not till tonight.”

“Good. Then you’re all mine.”

At that, Dick grinned, allowing Wally to grab his hand and tug him back in, off the balcony. Inside, Garth and Roy were on the couch, squabbling over what to watch on the flat screen as Donna perched on a barstool in the kitchen, sharpening her sword. It was a familiar, grounding sight, all of them together and so stupidly domestic. Sometimes Dick thought that maybe the reason he loved these calm moments so much was because they contrasted so sharply with the other aspects of his life. Like the way pleasure and pain both sparked joy in him was mimicked in both excitement and tranquility. Opposite feelings that triggered the same response.

Dick froze in the doorway, stopping Wally in his tracks. The speedster frowned at him and the other three looked up.

“Dick? What’s wrong?”

It took him a second to identify what it was that had made the hair on the back on his neck raise. Then his eyes locked onto a small black wire peeking out from behind a curtain and his ears picked up the faintest sound of ticking, too faint to be heard from a foot away in either direction. He ripped the curtain aside and revealed a black bomb, wires sticking out of it. There was no timer or any cliché movie touch, but Dick knew that a bomb was a bomb and it was always best to assume it was about to go off.

It was good to have a speedster with you in times like these. Dick had barely opened his mouth before he felt a sharp tug on his waist and a cool hand on his neck. The stinging sensation that meant he was moving too fast for a human prickled his skin and suddenly he was standing in the middle of a street, right on the waterfront. Every time he blinked one more Titan appeared next to him. Roy. Garth. Donna. Finally, Wally, who skidded to a stop and rammed into a car, denting it, his chest heaving and his red locks tousled.

Two blocks away, an explosion rocked the top of the apartment they had been in seconds ago and seconds later the whole complex was engulfed in flames. Dick felt the wave of heat wash over him and heard the tourists and locals on the sidewalks stopping to point and exclaim.

“Wally!” Garth said, rushing over to the man, who’d collapsed onto the ground, still struggling to catch his breath, uncaring that he was still in the middle of the street. Luckily, the drivers seemed more concerned with watching the blaze than getting to their destinations.

“Nearly...didn’t...make it,” the speedster gasped, grabbing Garth’s arm to steady himself.

“Who planted the bomb?” Donna demanded, a few holes burned into her clothes. She must have been the last one Wally saved, right as the bomb went off. Right in their apartment.

Everything turned to white noise around Dick as he started walking, away from his partners, towards an alley. He moved on autopilot, letting his instincts take over. His brain began calculating the likelihood of who planted the bomb, where they set it off from, who they were working for. He grabbed a ladder hanging down in the disgusting ally and began to climb, reaching the top of the building in seconds. Up here, the heat was even worse as he got closer to the fire, but it also gave him a view of all the rooftops. His blank blue eyes scanned the area before zeroing in on a figure in dark clothes moving across rooftops three blocks away,  _ fast.  _ Like he was running from something. Or to someone.

He pursued, sure feet carrying him across the rooftop express, as they had since he was a boy under Bruce’s tutelage. This had always come naturally to him. He knew how to move his body to get the maximum results with the least effort, he knew how to contort and balance to jump from roof to roof, never stumbling over losing sight of his target.

It took him three minutes to catch up.

Dick tackled the man, letting him grind into the gravel roof seven blocks away from the fire. He heard the man cry out, but it didn’t affect him. Once they’d hit the ground he was straddling the man, hands clenched into fists and slamming into the man’s face. Over. And over.

“I’m going to kill you,” Dick said gleefully, a fire lighting in his eyes as blood splashed across the roof, across his knuckles, across his face, the man groaning beneath him. “And I’m going to take my time. And I’m going to  _ enjoy it,”  _ he promised, landing a hit that broke the man’s nose, ensuring a fresh spurt of blood and an agonized cry of pain. He grinned, sitting back comfortably. “But first you’re going to tell me everything. And once I know why you were so fucking foolish as to target  _ my  _ friends, to mess with  _ me  _ and  _ my  _ family, I’m going to burn you alive like you tried to do to them.”

“Please! Please,  _ please—” _

Dick backhanded him and sucked in the delicious noises of pain and fear and desperation that came out of him. Anger coursed through his veins, hot and all-consuming and invigorating, and he let it. He reveled in those feelings, twisted them around until they were fuel, until he could look down at the bloody face beneath him and smile, because  _ he  _ had done that, had made the man who tried to kill him _suffer_ , and vengeance tasted good.

Three hours later, when the sun was beginning to sink over the gray waters and the fire in the apartment had been put out, leaving nothing but cinders behind, Dick Grayson-Wayne, first Prince of Gotham, flicked a match onto the line of gasoline and walked away, not even watching as the man met his end. It would have been boring, anyways, since he couldn’t scream anymore. Dick had broken his jaw an hour ago. Besides, the fire in him had cooled into something else, equally dangerous and destructive, but easier to control and less devouring. Better for plans than simple fits of passion, and now he had a target he could direct it at.

Roland Desmond. Blockbuster. The crime lord of Bludhaven.

It would be his last night on earth for what he’d done.

Still, as Dick walked away, he felt lighter and more coherent than he had in weeks. Like the haze that had descended on him, that had worried his Titans so much, had lifted. Maybe it was the purpose he now had, or maybe the flames had reawakened something in him, like a phoenix from the flames. He didn’t dwell on it long.

All that mattered was that Blockbuster died tonight and Dick felt _good_.


	7. The Kent Family

**The Present**

_“...following the death of noted Gotham mobsters today, there is unrest in the streets. ‘Don’ Falcone and many of his associates, long-time mafia leaders, were found dead in one of their restaurants, now believed to be a money-laundering front. Police are still investigating the murder and say they have no known suspects at this time. However, many mobsters under the employ of the Falcone crime family are now engaged in a messy gang war with other notable Gotham gangs. Gotham residents are being advised to remain indoors until further notice. There are three confirmed casualties, and local hospitals have been swamped with gunshot victims, gangsters and bystanders alike—”_

The reporter droned on, but then the TV volume was switched off mid-sentence. Jon looked up from his history textbook, a small frown on his face. Sure, he was supposed to be studying for his test tomorrow, but he liked listening to the TV with one ear. It helped him practice using his enhanced senses without focusing on it. Also, he always wanted to hear Gotham’s news.

“It’s terrible,” Jon’s mother said, shaking her head, staring at the TV which was still displaying footage of the streets of Gotham. It looked like a war zone.

“It’s Owlman and his Princes,” Clark replied, sounding both furious and exhausted.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. The League may not be able to enter Gotham, but we have informants. I could have guessed without that though. Who else would spawn such unrest and death?”

Even though his parents were downstairs, in the living room, Jon could hear them just as clearly as if they were in his bedroom with him.

Jon frowned. He knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but they were talking about the Waynes. He’d always been fascinated by the Waynes; they seemed impossible, a family of humans who held their own against the Justice League, who controlled half the world with their web of criminals and dirty politicians, and who had seduced not one, but _two_ generations of teen heroes to join them. Deadly and smart and rich and _beautiful..._

A blush crossed his cheeks as he remembered dancing with Damian Wayne just three nights ago, Damian’s warm hands on his waist, guiding him with confidence through the steps, face regal and proud.

That night had been perfect, the answer to every doubt and desire that had ever plagued Jon. The wealth, the decadence, the power, everything that could have been Jon’s if his father wasn’t such a coward. Jon was more powerful than anyone on Earth, maybe even his father, but he was stuck here, in this small bedroom with it’s cracked window and second-hand furniture and patched clothes. He felt like a shadow here, just a fraction of himself and his potential. When he was with Damian, though, he felt more like himself, like the person he knew he could be, _should_ be, than he ever had before.

“Then I should look into this,” Lois said, dragging Jon out of his head.

“Lois, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can. Clark, this is news, and I’m a reporter. People deserve to know who Wayne and his family really are—”

“They do, you’re right,” Clark interrupted, tone hard. “But you can’t. If you try to go after Wayne, he’ll retaliate.”

“He knows who you are. He wouldn’t dare target me.”

Jon heard his father’s sigh and could picture the way he would shuffle forward to hold Lois’ hands, to brush his thumb against her wedding ring. “He wouldn’t target you. But Jimmy? Or Perry? Or any of the hundreds of people who work at the Planet? He would target them in a heartbeat if he knew it would stop you from exposing him.”

“He wouldn’t,” she denied, aghast.

Clark’s answer was soft. “He would. Besides, you’re forgetting that he owns the Planet, you would never be able to get published. Let this one, go, Lois. Please.”

“...Okay.” He heard a sound that he thought was his mom hugging his dad. A quick x-ray through the floor revealed that he was right. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

They stayed like that for a moment. Jon looked away, frowning in distaste as his gaze landed on his school sweater with its torn sleeve. His parents said that he had to deal with his stuff when he damaged it, as if his father couldn’t just make a diamond and pay for everything. As if Jon couldn’t do the same. The only reason that he didn’t was because he knew they’d never let him keep the money.

 _Ping._ Jon grasped for his phone, tangled somewhere in his sheets (the same sheets he’d had since he was six). He nearly crushed it in his hand, but he managed to unlock it and pull up the message.

He was slightly disappointed when he saw the text was from Kon and not Damian, but he also wasn’t surprised. Damian almost never texted. Besides, the content of the text was just as good.

_B there in 5. B ready_

He pumped his fist, floating off his bed. If Kon was coming, that meant he was flying Jon to Gotham, and then to Dick’s club. Jon was kind of scared of the oldest Prince, who seemed to vacillate between euphoria and mania, but he’d never been anything but nice to Jon and his club was undeniably amazing. The Princes, the Titans, and the Teen Titans all hung out there, regardless of the day of week. Jon had only been twice before, but he loved the club just as much as he loved the galas. It was like being teleported to a whole new world, cooler and more magical than anything his parents could offer him.

He tucked his phone away and then leapt off the bed, sliding into the hall and floating down the stairs. He hurried over to the door, tugging on his coat (the nice black one Damian gave him, that wasn’t _too_ obviously expensive that his parents had questioned him about it yet) and jumping into his shoes.

“Excuse me, mister?” Jon froze at his mother’s voice, turning slowly to see her standing with her arms crossed, eyebrow raised, Clark a solid presence behind her. “Where do you think you’re going on a school night?”

He pulled out his phone, nearly fumbling it, and waved it. “Kon is coming. We’re going to hang out. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I’m just really excited to hang out with my big brother.”

Neither of them looked convinced and Jon started to grow nervous. Something was going on. He wasn’t sure what yet, but he knew his parents too well. Even if they were trying to hide it, he could tell that they were acting different.

“Is something up?” he asked.

“We need to talk, Jon. I promise you’re not in trouble.”

If her words were intended to put him at ease, they had the opposite effect. She might as well have tacked on a ‘yet’ at the end of her sentence. And there was only one thing that they could want to talk about with him.

“What is it?” he asked, tensing.

Clark’s hands landed on Lois’ shoulders. “Your mother and I know that you’ve been sneaking out at night, Jon. We know that you’ve ditched school a few times. And we know that the reason you’ve been hanging out with Conner so much is that he’s been bringing you to Gotham. And we know about Damian Wayne.”

Jon stayed silent. There was nothing he could say to make his parents understand, to accept his choices, and he knew that. Just like he knew that nothing they could say would change his own mind. This was doomed from the start.

“Son, I understand how hard it is to be a teenager, and I know how much harder it is to be different,” Clark continued, his eyes soft and his tone beseeching. “I went through it, too. And if you needed some time to adjust to figure things out, you should have talked to your mother and I. We only want what’s best for you, Jon. We love you.”

He stared at his parents, wide-eyed. Then, in one sharp hiss, said, _“_ Bull _shit.”_

“Jonathan!” Lois snapped.

He ignored her, zeroing in on his father. “I’m an alien, Dad! I’m not just ‘different’ or ‘special’ or some other bullshit; I am an alien! And I have powers, more powers than any else on this stupid planet, but you _won’t let me use them!_ You only ever taught me to control them, to suppress them, without ever even considering that I want to be more than just Jon Kent! I don’t just need time, Dad, I need to _do something!_ Why the hell should I care about school and petty teenage drama when I can lift a skyscraper?!”

“You’re fourteen, Jon, you need an education—”

He raised his voice louder, talking over his dad. “I _need_ to be with people more like me! Not freshmen: metas, aliens, people who are _more!”_

Clark’s face frosted over. “The Titans aren’t what you’re looking for, Jon.”

“How would you know?! Wouldn’t you have killed to have met someone like you when you were my age? Well, I have that chance, Dad. Kon had that chance, too, and he made amazing friends who understand him and are there for him—”

“Don’t make this about Conner,” Lois interrupted, violet eyes steely. “This is about you, Jonathan, and your actions.”

“Don’t you see?! _It is about Kon!”_ Jon sucked in a ragged breath. “You didn’t want anything to do with Kon, Dad, but you still gave him a Krytonian name. You still pushed him to be a hero. But what about me?”

Clark just looked bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m your son. Not Kon. But you never gave me a Kryptonian name. You made me feel isolated from my powers. You never have talked to me about becoming a hero like you, like Kon. All you ever talk about is me doing ‘normal’ things, like going to ‘normal’ school and having ‘normal’ friends. You cut me off from my heritage,” Jon said, letting all of his pain and accusation bleed through, sharp as a knife.

“Jon, I never meant to make you feel like that,” Clark confessed, looking stricken.

It was too late, though. Much too late. Jon felt like a cup that was overflowing, everything that he’d kept trapped inside of him for years flowing out, all the anger and frustration and hurt. One part of him reveled in the anguish on his parent’s face as they finally understood his feelings, while another part felt regret. He did love his parents. But he couldn’t live like them, and they would never let him be himself.

“Well, you did.”

Silence reigned for a moment. His parents seemed frozen, for once their faces blank. Jon still felt like he was exploding, a fresh maelstrom of feelings swirling inside him. Mostly, he just wanted to go. Let them figure out whatever they wanted, while he soared with his brother and then danced with Damian, and maybe later, when the club was emptying in the early hours of the morning, maybe Damian would lean his head on Jon’s shoulder, like he had last time, and they would talk until the sun had fully risen.

“Everything you are feeling is entirely understandable, Jon,” Lois said in her calm voice, the one she used on nervous informants. Jon felt a stab of apprehension as he realized that her eyes were just as steely as before. “But that doesn’t excuse the fact that you have been associating with known criminals.”

“How’d you find out about Damian?” he asked, jaw twitching in annoyance.

“You meet with him in the old barn, Jon. I have super hearing, too, remember?” The teen flushed. He had thought that his father was asleep when he made those midnight rendezvous. “What I can’t understand is why you are talking to him and meeting him in Gotham. Your mother and I have told you a million times, the Waynes are dangerous. More dangerous than you can even understand.”

“I’m not a child,” he snapped.

Clark was unmoved. “You are. And just like all the other powered children, like Conner and Donna and Wally and Cassandra, the Waynes are trying to influence you while you’re young and impressionable. You’re just the next one on their list, Jon. They don’t actually care about you. And I’m sorry, because I can tell you care for the youngest, but he’s an assassin and a sadist. He’s playing you.”

Jon shook his head fervently. “No, no, he’s not. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I _do._ I’ve seen this happen before. The first Prince corrupted Wally, Donna, Garth, and Roy one by one, turning them against their mentors and making them devoted to him, making them his harem. The third Prince copied him, playing with the cracks between Cassie and Diana, Bart and Barry...Conner and me. Please, Jon, I don’t want you to be next,” Clark begged. “They’re all murderers now. They’ve all done terrible things in addition to all the good things they do as publicity stunts. You’re not a murderer, you’re not a villain or a crime lord or an assassin. You shouldn’t be with them.”

“Who should I be with, then?! Who else could understand me? Who else would support me and help me the way they all do?” he challenged, yanking open the door. “I’m going now. I’m going to go be with my friends.”

“Jonathan Samuel Kent, don’t you dare walk about that door!” Lois snapped.

“Is there a problem here?”

Three heads swiveled to the open doorway. Kon was lounging in midair on his side, dark sunglasses tipped low on his nose and leather jacket over his uniform. His hair ruffled in the breeze, with its kiss curl that perfectly matched Clark’s.

Jon stepped out the doorway, hiding behind his brother’s bulk, as Kon dropped from the air,

“Jonathan, get back inside,” Clark commanded.

“No.”

“I heard arguing,” Kon said, attention squarely on Jon. Clark bristled in annoyance as he was ignored. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Let’s go,” Jon insisted, tugging on Kon’s sleeve.

The older teen shrugged. “Sure.”

“He’s not going anywhere, Conner,” Lois said, standing firm. “He’s grounded.”

Jon squawked in outrage, but Conner stayed in front of him, facing down both Lois and Clark.

“Hey, you heard the kid. He wants to go with me. Maybe cooler heads should prevail later. I’ll make sure he makes it to school on time, no worries.”

“Conner, go away. This is family business,” Clark snapped.

“Ouch. So I’m officially no longer part of the family?”

“You lost that privilege when you threw in with Timothy Drake,” he replied coldly.

Conner flicked his sunglasses back into place and shrugged. “Fine by me. You never really liked me. Couldn’t get past the whole clone thing. Your son isn’t so prejudiced though. Let’s go, Jon.” They both lifted into the air. “Oh, and Clark?” He called down. “I _will_ fight you if you try to stop either of us from leaving.”

His parents looked upset, but Jon felt alive. He was defying his parents. Open rebellion, and Kon had his back, and now he would get to see Damian. He was sure this fight would be continued, but he was winning this round, and that was enough for now.

“This isn’t over,” Clark warned.

Conner just laughed, grabbing Jon’s arm and rocketing away.


	8. A New King

**The Present**

It wasn’t hard to get into Blockbuster’s fortress.

It wasn’t even hard to find. He flaunted his wealth, buying the most expensive mansion on the cliffs above the harbor with the best view in the entire city. The whole place screamed wealth, from the fleet of vintage cars and limos to the new mansion, newer and nicer than anything else in the gimmicky city. Plus, armed guards blatantly patrolled at the front gate and in the woods and in the house. The guards were no match for the pissed-off Titans, though.

The four Titans took their time tearing through the guards one by one as their leader snuck inside, silent as a shadow as he moved through the halls, all the way to the master bedroom.

He slipped inside. The door had been left open by Blockbuster’s personal guards who had gone to assist the others. The room was massive, but then again, so was it’s occupant.

Roland Desmond was a mammoth of a man, eight feet tall and overly muscled, easily weighing hundreds of pounds. His signature move was twisting people’s heads three hundred sixty degrees like they were water bottle caps. He was known for being a terrifying fighter and a ruthless and efficient crime lord.

Dick sneered as he approached the man, who was now leaving heavily against his headboard, an oxygen mask on his face, various nodes hooked up to his body. How the mighty do fall.

“Blockbuster, I presume,” the young man said, grinning wickedly as bloodshot brown eyes sunken in an ugly-ass face looked his way.

“Wayne’s lap dog. I’ve been expecting you,” he rasped, tearing off the mask.

“Well, we did have dinner plans, but I’ve decided that since you blew up my brother’s apartment, I’d rather just kill you and deal with the fallout.” His hand slid into his jacket.

“You should be dead.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyeing all of the medical equipment. “I’m amazed you’re still alive, much less running this town. It’s your heart, right? Too small for your mutated body? Not as uncommon as you might think these days. How much longer would you have lasted with all this junk? A few months, at best? I’m kind of disappointed.”

“Why? I thought you and your sadistic brothers got off on people’s pain,” Blockbuster said, face screwing up in pain. His heart monitor began to beat faster.

“We get off on causing pain, but I can tell you’ve already suffered worse than anything I could do to you.”

The crime lord cackled, the sound broken and pathetic. “Did I spoil your fun, little bird? Not used to the world not revolving around you?”

Dick shook his head, drawing out his hand. “Not at all. You see, normally I like drawing these things out. Having some fun with it, like I did with your bomber earlier. But honestly? I don’t care about you that much. So I’m just going to do this.”

Blockbuster’s eyes had barely widened before the bullet tore through his forehead and the man slumped forward, dead.

Dick stuck the gun back into his jacket and left the room with the cooling corpse behind. He could still hear the Titans outside, but he made no move to join them. Instead, he ambled through the halls, peeking into all of the rooms he passed. He didn’t pause until he caught a blue reflection. The door was open, inviting him into a massive pool room. The water was begging him to jump into its refracting depths. Never one to dismiss his impulses, he began to strip.

He dove into the clear water, slicing it through it like a missile. He’d only completed one lazy lap when he heard footsteps barreling down the hall and familiar faces peeked into the room.

Roy sighed. “Pretty bird, couldn’t you let us know you’re not dead before you go swimming?”

Dick kicked into a back float, his blue eyes raking up and down his partners’ figures. “Wouldn’t you rather join me than berate me?”

“The man has a point,” Wally said, leaning in the doorway and smirking at the archer.

Garth, however, didn't even hesitate. Within seconds his uniform was discarded and he dove in with the grace of a dolphin, sweeping Dick up into his arms, who held tight to him, laughing. The Atlantean buried his face in Dick's neck, eagerly sucking at the pale column of his neck like he was a horny teenager. Dick's strong legs wrapped around Garth's waist, Garth's hands cupping his ass.

Donna strode to the edge of the pool, flicking her eyebrows up at them. “Sometimes I think none of you matured past the age of thirteen.”

“Come on,” Dick said, batting his eyes at her, taking in the way her black uniform hugged her like a second skin. He felt arousal licking at him as he eyed her generous curves and felt Garth’s firm chest beneath his hands. “I promised you all a vacation.”

“We’re in a crime lord’s pool. A crime lord you just killed.”

Roy walked up to the Amazonian and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You have to admit, this is not actually the least romantic place he’s tried to seduce us. You remember that Church of Blood hideout a few years ago?”

“Okay, that was worse,” she conceded.

Dick shrugged. “I still don’t see what the problem is.”

Garth’s chest rumbled beneath him and then the Atlantean was whispering in his ear, “You realize the cops are probably on their way? We weren’t exactly discreet about taking out Blockbuster.”

Dick reached up and grabbed a fistful of Garth’s hair, tilting his head back, away from his neck, as his purple eyes flickered shut. “I wouldn’t worry about the cops. The crime boss of Bludhaven is dead. And everything that was his is about to be mine.” Then he pressed his lips onto Garth’s neck and the Atlantean’s objections died as he groaned, easily supporting all of Dick’s weight in the water.

Roy and Wally began shucking their clothes. The speedster finished first and jumped into the pool, sending up a giant wave of water, forcing Dick to pull back. He rolled his eyes, but then Wally was at his side, squeezing his neck and tangling his freckled fingers in his wet hair. Dick forgave him quickly.

“Not coming, Princess?” Roy teased, sliding back up against her, fully naked now.

She considered him with her cool blue eyes. “I’ll come. But I want to do something first.”

He licked his lips, leaning in closer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then, with a beautiful display of her Amazonian strength, she grabbed him by his shoulders, whirled around, and tossed the man into the pool with ease.

Garth, Wally, and Dick busted up as Roy came spluttering to the surface. Donna smirked down at him, like a gorgeous and slightly cruel goddess.

“Okay, now I’ll join.”

She stripped and jumped in, graceful as a swan. The five of them tangled together in the water, playing innocently and not-so innocently, caught up in the smooth slide of their skin, splashing water on each other as if they were the thirteen years old that Donna had claimed they were.

And down the hall, Roland Desmond’s body slowly stained the sheets red.


	9. Titans v. Justice League

**The Present**

“Can we go? Is there a reason we’re here, or are you guys just going to keep staring at us?” Roy demanded, feet braced on the floor like he was about to bolt upwards. Donna had a tight grip on his arm, likely anticipating it.

“We’re waiting on Wally to begin,” Superman said, as impassive as he had been for the last half hour.

The archer sneered. “Begin what? You ordered us to come here, so we came, but there’s clearly no emergency. What the fuck is this?”

To that, the Man of Steel had no answer. He returned to staring at a point above the Titans’ heads, ignoring their burning gaze. They were beginning to get impatient. When they’d arrived, they’d been ushered into the League’s meeting room and had been told to wait. Since then, nothing. Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Green Arrow, Green Lantern, and the Flash sat on one side of the massive table, all quiet and solemn, facing off with Donna, Roy, and Garth, who in contrast were grouped together, arms and legs draped over each other like they were one being in three bodies.

Luckily, before Roy could boil over, a red blur zipped into the room, materializing behind the Titans, his green eyes sweeping over the League, his lips tilted downwards.

“Sorry for the delay,” Wally apologized, sliding into a seat beside Garth, kicking his feet up onto the table in a brazen show of irreverence. “I wanted to run the idiot to Belle Reve myself.”

Diana dipped her head in acknowledgement. “We thank you for your help.”

“Yeah, sure. So, uh, what’s up? What have I missed?” he asked, eyes flicking around again.

“Fucking  _ nothing,”  _ Roy snarled.

_ “Arsenal,”  _ Oliver barked.

That was the final straw. He surged to his feet, knocking off Donna’s hand, and slammed the table. “We have been waiting for half an hour, dealing with your silent bullshit! Get to the fucking point already!”

“Roy,” Garth snapped, pulling him back down, tucking him slightly behind him. The Atlantean looked back up at the League. “What Arsenal is so ineloquently saying is that we came here believing there to be an emergency, and instead we seem to be in trouble. The Titans and the League have had a working relationship for years. What happened that you no longer seem to extend us the courtesy of treating us as colleagues, or at least allies?”

“This isn’t about the Titans,” Superman said and the younger heroes didn’t bother to hide their skepticism. “This is about the Wayne crime family and your complicity in the murder of Roland Desmond, known as Blockbuster, and possibly other figures.”

The aura of the room changed in an instant. The Titans straightened, chins tilted up and eyes steely, as the League allowed their emotions to bleed into view. Confusion, disgust, disbelief, and anger splashed across the senior heroes’ faces as they surveyed their former sidekicks.

“You’re accusing us of murder?” Donna said quietly, her voice swelling in the room, commanding their attention. “Diana?”

The woman who could have been her twin met her eyes. “I’m sorry, sister. But we’ve all seen the evidence. We’ve all heard the news, and we’ve all heard the whispers from the underground. Roland Desmond was a mob boss, but he was murdered. And now Richard Grayson, who you four claim as your leader in his Nightwing persona, has been declared the King of Bludhaven.”

“You have no proof,” Wally said flatly.

“We do,” Barry said, an oddly gentle note in his voice. He slid forward a projector, which displayed a holographic video over the table, for both teams to see.

It was slightly blurry, and it was even harder to see because the footage was of nighttime, the sky dark and little other illumination present. Still, a mansion could be made out on a cliff above the ocean, and soon enough it was obvious that there was fight happening on the sloping lawns, gunfire bursts of light, providing glimpses of a man in red, a woman flying, and a red blur. Water washed over the lawn, flooding it and sweeping the gunmen away, revealing another dark-haired man in the water’s wake.

The four Titans stayed silent. Barry paused the video and put it away.

“All you showed us was proof that the four of us fought gunmen at a Bludhaven mansion, which we could have told you ourselves,” Donna said, shoulders squared. “If you’re objecting to our methods, I will remind you that the League often operates outside of the law when necessary.”

“Donna... _ sister,  _ this footage was taken the night that Roland Desmond was found dead, shot to death in his bed.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So? None of us carry a gun, and Desmond had a lot of enemies.”

“Nightwing has been known to carry guns,” Arthur pointed out.

“On occasion,” she conceded. “All legally registered. He doesn’t have powers, after all, and it’s smart not to rely entirely on his teammates. But I fail to see how pointing that out proves that the four of us helped murder Blockbuster.”

_ “Donna,”  _ Diana said, a desperation breaking through her calm mask. “You don’t need to cover for his crimes. I don’t know what he’s done to you to make you protect him like this, but I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.”

Roy busted up, laughing so hard that he doubled over. Hal, Arthur, and Ollie scowled, but the young archer took no notice. His friends made no move to quiet him. In fact, Wally was openly grinning and Garth had a small smile on his face. Only Donna kept her composure.

“You have  _ no  _ idea what you’re talking about,” Roy gasped out, shoulders shaking.

Diana stared at him with such disdain that it was amazing he didn’t vaporize on the spot. “Then  _ enlighten _ me, Roy Harper.”

“He means that Dick is not blackmailing us or whatever it is you’re implying,” Donna cut in. “And you have no proof that we committed a murder, so I think we’ll be going now.”

“Where? Back to Blockbuster’s mansion where you’ve been staying since Nightwing murdered him?” Ollie challenged, rising from his seat.

“Excuse me?!”

“You’ve been spying on us!” Wally yelled, on his feet. Barry leapt up, too.

“Everyone, sit,” Superman commanded. The two speedsters faced off for a moment before complying. Wally looked away, but Barry didn’t. Superman carried on. “We had the residence under surveillance. Blockbuster’s death was not the first suspicious murder in the last few months, especially after all the unrest in Gotham. We were all surprised to find out that your team was staying in a building where a man had just been murdered.”

“Guys, we don’t have to make this hard,” Barry said. He pretended to be talking to all of them, but it was clear he was really talking to Wally. “We just want to know what happened. We know that you don’t want to land your friend in trouble, but if he really did murder a crime boss, we need to know. Or if it was someone else. Whatever it is, just tell us.”

“Stop babying them,” Ollie interrupted, crossing his arms. “They’re not kids anymore. They know that they’re aiding and abetting criminals. We’ve let this go on too long, but it’s time to cut the bullshit.”

_ “‘Let?’”  _ Roy repeated, lips curled back.

“I told you,” Oliver said, jaw set as he stared down his former sidekick. “When we first heard about the Teen Titans, I told you who Richard Grayson was. I told you that he had done something to the other kids, and I warned you to stay away, to not get sucked in, but you ran off the second they came by!”

“You’ve never approved. You never liked anything I did, no matter how hard I tried, and I won’t apologize for joining the people who actually gave a shit about me.”

“Just because he lets you suck his dick doesn’t mean he cares.”

Roy let out a wordless cry, lunging across the table. He didn’t get far before Wally had zipped him back to his seat, holding him firmly in place. Ollie stared at him in disgust and Roy’s temper flared again.

“None of you ever got it!” he yelled, at all of them, forcing them to meet his eyes, only growing angrier when he was met with pity. “None of you ever fucking got it! You all have your heads so far up your asses that you never saw what was right-fucking in front of you! Dick didn’t tempt us over to the dark side or use some magic spell! He treated us like people! Like equals! And you still don’t fucking get it!”

“Enough,” Diana commanded with all her authority. She grabbed her whip and held it up, so that they could see it’s magic flare to life. “We are all adults, capable of having a conversation without screaming like children.”

“I disagree,” Arthur said. “Oliver is right. They know what they’ve done, and they don’t want to cooperate with us.”

“So what?” Garth said, his cool voice slicing through the air. “Are you going to arrest us, my King? On what charges? For how long? Until we agree to do whatever you say like obedient little sidekicks?”

“That is not what any of us want, Garth, but you’re not leaving us any other choice. Blockbuster is the first death we can prove, but how many others were there? How many times did Grayson cross the line? How many times did you turn a blind eye? How many times did you  _ help  _ him?”

“You did not answer my question. Are you going to arrest us, even though all you have is circumstantial evidence, at best?”

Arthur shook his head, genuine pain in his eyes. “I wanted to hear you deny it. Deny that you helped Nightwing murder a rival crime lord. Deny that you knew but did nothing. Instead, all you and your friends are doing is deflecting. I love you, Garth. I watched you grow from a boy into a man, and I hoped that should anything happen to me, you could take the throne. But now I feel like I don’t even know you.”

“You stopped knowing me the first time you told me to quit the Titans.”

The King of Atlantis bowed his head, waves of regret and pain coming off him, but Garth was unaffected. He might as well have just delivered a mission report for all the emotion he showed at turning down any chance he had at the throne.

“Titans,” Superman said, looking over all of them. “We have to ask you to stay on the Watchtower until a trial can be held.”

Roy snorted.

Donna raised an eyebrow. “Wally.” A blur of red and then Diana’s lasso was in Donna’s hand. The Leaguers tensed, but she didn’t move to wield it. Rather, she wrapped it around her hand for all of them to see and then raised her chin. “I took this so you could all know that what I am about to tell you is the unequivocal truth. Dick Grayson did not use magic, brainwashing, or any other tactics to force us to work with him, to make him our leader, or make us his lovers. We have all been entirely of sound mind when we made these decisions.”

Superman, Arthur, Ollie, and Barry all looked pained, but she wasn’t done. “We are fully aware of the position Dick holds within his family and he has never lied to us about that.”

“You all know?” Diana demanded, looking at them, disbelief etched deep on her face. “He tells you everything,  _ we  _ tell you everything that his family has done, and yet you’re defending him? Supporting him?!”

“Yes,” Donna answered clearly.

“Donna. Wally, Garth, Roy. Richard Grayson is a  _ psychopath.  _ He’s the Prince of Gotham, and now the King of Bludhaven,” Superman said, hands spread as he made his appeal. “I know he is your friend, and I know that that’s our fault, for not protecting you all better, and I know that he has helped you do good as a team. But that doesn’t justify all the lives he’s taken, all the pain he’s caused. He  _ will  _ inherit his father’s criminal empire and he will be just as bad, if not worse, than Bruce Wayne. He’s a psychopath.”

“You think we don’t know that?” Donna asked, brows raised. Wally shook his head, amused, behind her. “Of course he’s a psychopath. We know. But at the end of the day, we love Dick more than we care about anything else.”

Diana went pale. “You can’t mean that,” she whispered, horrified.

Donna waved the lasso. “You know that I do. And we know that you all didn’t suddenly grow a conscience and regret that you allowed us to go down this ‘criminal’ path. We know that this isn’t about us at all. You want to save Bart and Cassie and Kon. You think that you failed us, but that you can still pull them out of this life if you show them how wrong we were.”

“You’re wrong,” Wally added. “They’re already in so deep. You can blame us if it makes it easier on you, because I know you tried so hard to stop the second generation from falling in with the Waynes, but they did anyway. You know that Bart and Cassie idolize Donna and I, so you want to blame us. Well, go right ahead. We don’t regret it.”

“Don’t try to drag them into this,” Ollie snapped. “This is about the fact that you are all clearly wildly delusional about Grayson and that you killed a man!”

“You’ve known we’ve been killing people since we were fourteen!” Roy yelled back. “You knew! All those people who ‘accidentally’ died on our missions. It was always the drug dealer or the human trafficker. Never a bystander or a hostage. Not even once. You knew it was too good to be true.”

Denial flashed across all the League's faces, but Roy leaned back, point made. He didn’t care if they accepted it or not. In fact, all the Titans were now far beyond caring what the League thought of them. They’d been growing apart since they recruited Dick. This was just the final crack that would set them on different paths forever.

“They have known,” Garth agreed, and then narrowed his eyes. “And they know that it’s too late for the Teen Titans, also. So what is this really about?”

Realization sparked in Donna’s eyes. “Jon.”

“Excuse me?” Superman demanded, nostrils flaring.

“Jon. You were never close with Conner, but Jon is your son. Your baby boy. You don’t want him being the next kid sucked into Gotham. You found out that he’s been seeing Damian Wayne,” Donna guessed, and from the way Superman’s face tightened with repressed worry and anger, she knew she was right. “That’s what you’re trying to stop. First, take us out, and then the Teen Titans, striping the Waynes of their metahuman protection. Then you’ll go after the Waynes. Jon will be saved from the evil Prince of Gotham and you can live happily ever after.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Donna stood up and her friends rose with her. “No, Superman. I finally understand. As of today, the Titans are cutting all ties with the League. We will be returning to Bludhaven. If you try to stop us, or if you confront us in the future, we will fight you.”

She threw down the lasso. The League was motionless as they streamed out of the room, leaving their former mentors, friends, family behind without even a backwards glance. The temperature in the room seemed to drop in their absence, her last haunting, damning words lingering in the air.

In the end, there was only one thing that could be uttered.

“We failed.”


	10. Tim Drake

**The Past**

“This is my son, Tim.”

A large hand slapped onto the slight boy’s shoulder and he withheld his scowl. Scowling wouldn’t get him anywhere. Tim’s father and the fat businessman he was talking to weren’t even looking at him. Their conversation had already shifted away from Tim and on to the latest big tech company to move into Gotham. He could have told him that it was pointless. No tech startup had a chance in this city. Wayne Industries would have them bought out by the next quarter.

But no one was asking his opinion, so he kept his mouth shut.

It was easy to move through the tuxedoed crowd when you were half the average height of most attendees. Tim’s father didn’t even notice the absence at his side. Within moments, Tim found himself free of the throng in one of the unoccupied window seats of the Wayne Manor ballroom. He clambered up into it, letting the heavy curtains obscure him, which gave him a measure of privacy from the main floor.

His pale blue eyes swept over the floor. He could name every business man and woman and their spouses and children present by name. He could probably build all of their family trees, too, and he could list the major transactions for all of their companies, legal and illegal. Jack Drake had no clue that his son regularly hacked into his company server and read all of their files. Then again, Jack Drake didn’t know his son at all.

“You’re so handsome,” a fake sugar-sweet voice cooed, uncomfortably close to Tim’s hideout. He shifted further back. A moment later, a woman in eight inch heels and scraps of clothing that alluded to a dress was feeling up a handsome, dark haired young man, probably ten years her younger, less than a yard from his hiding place. Her puffy hair blocked Tim’s view of the man’s face. “Just like your father. What’s it like, being Bruce Wayne’s son?”

Tim froze up, mind screeching to a halt for the first time in his life. Then, a voice Tim would have recognized in his sleep chuckled and replied in a low, sexy tone, “Better than you could possibly imagine.”

She giggled and Tim was struck with a deep cord of loathing for her fake laugh and her fake voice and her fake breasts. How dare that  _ imbecile  _ even  _ talk  _ to Dick Grayson! How dare she touch him! She had no clue of the greatness she was flirting with, of the danger. She only saw the long line of zeros in his trust fund.

They shifted against each other and then Tim was burning under the heavy gaze of two impossibly blue eyes.

“Cici, darling, why don’t you go grab us some drinks?” Dick said, smooth and detached. He removed her hands and was suddenly out of her reach without seeming to have moved.

“Uh...yeah, of course, baby.”

She’d already lost his attention and a moment later she seemed to realize it. Tim watched her stalk away, fuming, because it was easier than watching the Prince of Gotham slide onto the window seat, leaning in the frame of the window opposite him. He looked too perfect, his hair artfully styled to frame his blue eyes and his skin so pale it looked like marble, his casual pose still radiating power. How could anyone mistake him for the silly playboy he looked like on magazine covers? He was a predator in human skin.

“Hello, Timmy,” he said, smiling like it was a common occurrence to hang out in a window during his father’s party with his young neighbor. “Do you know me?”

“Yes.”

_ Richard John Wayne, formerly Ryeka John Grayson, son of Mary Grayson and John Grayson, deceased. Nineteen years old, of Romani descent, grew up in C.C. Haly’s International Circus until his parents were murdered by “Boss” Anthony Zucco. Adopted by Bruce Wayne at age eight. Valedictorian of Gotham Academy. Currently working as an ‘assistant’ to his father for the company he will inherit, Wayne Enterprises. Five foot ten, one hundred and eighty-five pounds. _

_ Also, the first Prince of Gotham, a powerful general to the international crime lord Owlman, who is Bruce Wayne. His brother, Jason Peter Wayne, is the second Prince. Richard also operated under the codename Nightwing, formerly Robin, and leads the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans. _

Tim knew more about Dick Grayson and the Waynes than he had ever told anyone, or probably ever would. It wasn’t like he had anyone to share it with, anyways. Well, no one he cared to share with.

“You’ve been watching my family, Timmy,” Dick said cheerfully. Tim’s shoulders stiffened, but strangely he saw no tension in Dick. No hint of a threat or a warning. Just...a smile.

He didn’t lower his guard, and he knew better than to lie. He didn’t even  _ want  _ to lie. This was…exciting. More exciting than anything in his dull, stifling life.

“I have.”

Dick smiled even wider and Tim stared at him. He’d never seen someone smile at him like this. It wasn’t fake or polite. It was real, if a bit maniacal. There was a strange gleam in those blue eyes that was too bright, too vicious. Tim vastly preferred it to any smile his father had ever given him at these socialite parties.

“You’re impressive, really,” the Prince continued, offhand. “The way you hacked into our servers. It took Bruce a whole week to figure you out.” Tim’s expression didn’t change, but Dick seemed to sense his discontent. “That’s really good, Timmy. Usually it takes him a half hour to figure out hacks. Which is why I thought it was time we finally met. I think we could really get along. I know you’re smarter than everyone in this room combined, and I know how frustrating it is to be constantly underestimated.”

Every bone in Tim’s small body sang,  _ Yes, yes, yes, like me, like me.  _ He didn’t let that show though, even if he was certain Dick could see right through him. Still, the older teen’s eyes remained fever bright as Tim straightened.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

Dick shrugged, adjusting his Rolex. “Just talking out loud, I guess. I mean, your parents probably won’t let you come over to the Manor, right? And I doubt they’d let you work for the competition. What would the press think if the heir to Drake Industries started working for WE? Certainly wouldn’t let you join my little family, even if they couldn’t care less about you. It would ruin the wholesome American family image they have going.” He rolled his head back, looking at Tim through a fringe of lashes. “Now, if your parents were no longer in the picture…”

“You know.” It wasn’t a question. Tim could see it in his face.

“Well, Bruce knows. But he told me and Jay.” Dick grinned, almost giddy. “You should be more careful buying poisons, Timmy. It tends to set off red flags.”

“Richie!” a chorus of female voices shouted from the dance floor. Neither of them acknowledged them.

“Don’t worry, though. We took care of it.” Dick uncoiled, standing up in a fluid motion. “I look forward to seeing you around more, Timmy. Hopefully, very soon. And if you need any help, Jay loves poisons. But, like I said, you’re a smart boy. I know you’ll find a way to do it yourself without leaving a trace.”

Tim also stood. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his parents standing by the doors, quietly arguing with each other. They were putting on their coats. They’d forgotten about him again.

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other really soon.”

Dick smiled like a satisfied cat. “I’d like that. Oh, and I’ll have Alfred give you a ride home.”

Of course he hadn’t missed the Drakes leaving. Dick gave a little wave and walked away. Within seconds, a dark haired woman and a red headed man were on either side of him. He wrapped a possessive arm around each of their waists. Tim watched him go until he was swallowed by the crowd.

Soon. So very soon, the Drakes would be dead and Tim would be free. He’d be a Wayne and he’d be the one walking through this party like he was a god.

Soon.


	11. Penthouse

**The Present**

The penthouse was mercifully quiet when Damian woke up, which was a rarity, these days.

Since the Titans official and public break with the Justice League, the fools had moved into the penthouse. West usually ate all of the food in the fridge, Harper would dominate the living room, Troy would commandeer the armory, and the Atlantean would spend hours in the pool. Damian had thought, at first, that Grayson used them, the way he used all of his many paramours, but recently he had been forced to admit that that was not the case with the Titans. Grayson cared for them with the same obsessive possessive loyalty he cared for his family with.

So Damian tolerated their invasion into his and Grayson’s home. But he was still very glad to not have them buzzing around, making a mess, as he sipped his tea and perused the Gotham Gazette. To his satisfaction, a picture of his father was splashed across the front page, demanding attention, respect, and envy.

At first, when he had come to his father six years ago, he had thought it was foolhardy and vain to flaunt his own wealth and power. Now, he understood that his family’s fame was the best camouflage possible. Wayne Enterprises and the Waynes themselves were believed to be humanitarians, some of the most prominent and generous in the world. In reality, it took but a small fraction of their true wealth, but it was enough to keep people from prying deeper than that. It was the opposite of the way his grandfather, Ra’s al Ghul, had done things; from the shadows. Damian wasn’t sure how far Ra’s reach truly was and how deep his pockets were.

“Good morning, little bird,” a familiar voice chirped. Dick slid onto the barstool next to him, already wearing his Titans combat uniform despite the early hour.

“Grayson,” he greeted.

“Did you enjoy yourself at the gala last night?”

“As much as can be expected when one is subjected to such an idiotic and shallow assembly.”

“You did, then,” Grayson concluded, with surety. Damian shrugged, although he was certain his brother saw through him. All of his grandfather’s relentless training had failed to prepare Damian for Richard Grayson. His older brother had an uncanny knack for reading people. Father always said that was one of the reasons he had taken in the orphaned acrobat.

That, and the nonexistent moral compass paired with a hell of a sadistic streak.

“Did your good time have anything to do with your date? Jonathan Samuel Kent, aka Superboy, second ‘hero’ to go by the name—”

“I’m aware of who my companion was, Grayson.”

His brother laughed, unaffected by his ire. “I know. What I don’t know is why you brought him. What are you planning? Because Tim already has his Teen Titans, but we could figure something else out—”

“I have no interest in training super-powered children with delusions of grandeur how to work as a team. Nor do I have any desire to play at being a hero.” Damian let his contempt speak for itself.

He had never understood Grayson's desire to corrupt good little sidekicks. He understood Drake: the third Prince had wanted enforcers, a special force that only he could control, and he had sculpted his Teen Titans into that force. But Grayson had taken it a step farther and actually played hero. He'd gone on missions to help the Titans and even assisted the Justice League at times. It was amazing their father hadn't put a stop to that, but Grayson had always been able to get away with stuff that none of the other Princes could.

Damian didn't even need to corrupt Kent. His idiotic father had done that himself by hiding the young alien away. And Damian would never pretend to be something he's not, even to get Kent's trust. He'd been honest with the boy from the beginning.

“Then why bring the kid to the gala? Multiple galas, actually. He’s been your date to the last three in a row now.”

The assassin sipped his tea. “Kent’s skills are being criminally neglected and underused. He’s even more powerful than his foolish father, but his parents keep him isolated and discourage him from exploring his Kryptonian heritage until he’s older. He’s the world’s most powerful bomb waiting to go off. I saw an opportunity and took it. Kent is young and desperate to feel less alone. He’s both scared and curious about his developing powers. I can be a friend, a confidant, and a mentor all in one.”

“So then your interest in Kent is purely for the opportunity his vulnerability presents?”

Damian paused. Considered. Sipped his tea. Frowned when he realized his mug was empty. Grayson was patient, or as patient as he ever was. Even in still, quiet moments, Grayson was in motion, tapping his foot, drumming his fingers, and shifting in place. Damian had had any such fidgeting trained out of him when he was young.

“It’s okay if it’s more than that,” Grayson said, sensing his brother’s inner dilemma without having to hear it vocalized. “Tim treats his team as solely mission orientated, tools to be used, but that’s not how I treat my team. I wanted people I could trust to kill for me, to die for me, to do anything for me, so I shaped them, but I care for them, too. You’re allowed to want more than just a weapon.”

Damn Grayson. For all his psychopathic tendencies and days lost in his own head, he was startlingly intelligent. Damian felt like his diary had just been read, his innermost thoughts reshaped and soothed out by Grayson’s silky words. This is why he had Maya. Maya never made him talk about feelings. Although he supposed Grayson and Maya held very different positions in his life.

“Kent is...intriguing,” he admitted, not quite looking at Grayson. “I can’t help but feel a kind of kinship with him. Our fathers are enemies, diametrically opposed, but the two of us grew up heirs to legacies stretching back generations. And the more time I spend with him, the more intriguing he gets.”

Grayson looked at him, his eyes so blue they looked unreal in the dim, Gotham morning light. The distance between them seemed to grow even as they both held unnaturally still.

Finally, his brother said, “Be careful with Kent. You can’t tame a bomb.”

“Then how did you tame your menagerie?”

“I showed them the way out of the box their mentors had put them in and trapped them in mine.”

Damian slid to his feet. Like this, with Grayson seated and himself upright, he was clearly taller than his brother. He liked it.

“I’ve already made the crack in Kent’s box that Superman locked him in. Now it’s just a matter of time until he comes to me willingly.”

And if not, there were other ways. In the end, though, Jonathan Kent would be his.


	12. Superboy vs. Superman

**The Present**

“You can’t be here,” Jon hissed. Damian’s clothes ruffled in the breeze, but otherwise the older teen was unmoved.

“Hello, Jonathan. Did you have a pleasant time last night?”

Jon landed in front of him, but kept back, the hay-littered floor of the Kent family barn stretching between them. The only illumination came from the moon peeking through the rafters in places, but neither boy seemed bothered by this. At first it had unnerved Jon how Damian seemed to feel so at home in the dark, like he was a shadow himself, but now he thought it was just one of the many things that made him so alluring.

He had other things on his mind tonight, though.

“Damian, I’m serious, you have to go _right now.”_ He glanced around anxiously, Damian’s cool exterior only serving to agitate him further.

“Calm down, Kent, and tell me what’s happening.”

His tone couldn’t be mistaken for anything except the order that it was. Jon found himself answering on instinct. “My dad knows about you, he knows we’ve been spending time together and he told me not to see you again and he’ll get suspicious if I’m gone long, but I had to warn you. You have to go, right now, before—”

Jon froze in terror as a dark streak solidified into a towering shadow behind Damian. A cruel grin curled at the edges of Damian’s lips. The temperature seemed to drop rapidly, freezing Jon in place.

Without turning, Damian said, “Hello, _Superman.”_

“I’m only going to give you one chance to leave, Wayne,” Jon’s father warned in a tone he had never heard before. It sent shivers down Jon’s spine.

Damian turned leisurely, an imperial brow raised. “No, I don’t think you will. You’re all bluster, Superman. And you won’t move when you might hurt Jon.”

“I would never hurt my son, and I won’t allow _you_ to poison his mind anymore.”

Damian let out one sharp, demeaning laugh. “Is that what you think is happening? That I’m some twisted villain come to steal your son’s innocence and seduce him to the dark side? That’s rich. But I’m not my brother, Superman, and Jonathan isn’t Conner.”

“Don’t you dare say their names!” Clark snarled.

“Dad,” Jon whimpered, finally able to find words as his two worlds collided. Clark’s eyes (his own eyes) snapped to him, filled with anger, hate, worry, and disappointment. It was almost enough to close up his throat again. It would have a few months ago, before Damian.

No longer. _“Stop,”_ he commanded.

His father was unmoved. “Jon, go back inside. Now.”

With a phenomenal force of will, he stepped forward, closer to his father’s burning eyes, to stand at Damian’s side. “I won’t. Dad, please, don’t make this worse.”

He could feel the latent energy radiating off Damian. He was wound tight like a spring, ready to strike, waiting for the right moment. Jon reached out and grabbed Damian’s hand, squeezing tight, tight enough he could feel bones shift, but not break. The assassin didn’t react, but he knew the message had been received.

His father only saw them holding hands, though.

“Jonathan, you have no idea what’s going on here. Go inside now. I’ll deal with this.”

“He really doesn’t know you, does he?” Damian mused, low, but that hardly mattered when he was with two Kryptonians. Both of them heard it, clear as day.

“Don’t pretend to know him, or care about him!” Clark snapped, hands fisted. “You’re just using him, like your brother’s use their Titans! He’s not your friend, Jon! You’re just a tool, a weapon he wants for himself like the spoiled child he is!”

“Your narrative seems to be changing. First, I was a mastermind villain, and now I’m a spoiled child.”

“Go, Dad,” Jon said once more, drawing his attention away from Damian. “Just go, please.”

“Jonathan, get back inside.”

He raised his chin. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

That gave Clark pause. “Jon, stop being stubborn. Go inside.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not going to leave you here with this killer!” Clark cried, his façade cracking as he pleaded with his son. Jon was resolute, though. He couldn’t leave Damian. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. “I told you that, Jon, I warned you! He’s a Prince of Gotham, they’re all killers and psychos and criminals and they will use you. It’s not too late, Jon. Go inside and I’ll take care of this.”

“No!”

“What do you think is going to happen?!” Clark yelled, stepping forward. Damian’s hand slipped towards his belt. “You’re fourteen, and I’m your father! You can’t move to Gotham!”

“I assure you, he can,” Damian said, voice cold as ice. “My family has influence in every level of government. If Jon chooses to come with me, I will make sure he has every protection under the law and he’ll be well out of your reach.” Then he tilted his head towards Jon, his gorgeous green eyes piercing and ethereal in the weak lighting. “It is up to you entirely, Jonathan. I would never tear you away from your family.”

The words wrapped around his heart, sending heat through him. He squeezed Damian’s hand again, but this time it was gentle, loving. “I know, Dami.” That was one of the things that he loved about the assassin: his undying love and loyalty towards his family, and the respect he had for all families.

And just like that, Jon knew what he had to do. Knew what he _wanted._ The idea had been creeping up on him ever since that first time he had flown out to this dilapidated barn and seen an angel wrapped in dark clothes waiting for him, with impossible green eyes and an intoxicating voice. It had only gotten stronger with every midnight rendezvous and whirlwind gala, as school got more stifling and his parents seemed to drift further away from him, becoming mistrustful and overprotective.

Jon turned towards his father and squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height. “I’m going with Damian, Dad. I don’t want you to try to stop me or harm Damian, or rescue me. I am doing this of my own free will.”

“Jon—” His voice was a tangle of anger, disbelief, and heartbreak, but Jon didn’t waver.

“No. You and Mom have always, always tried to keep me hidden, tried to make me be _normal,_ tried to force me to be something I’m _not_ and don’t want to be. You never listened to me!” he growled, years of frustration and hidden emotions pouring out of him. His eyes began to glow, but he didn’t even notice, even as his father and Damian tensed. “I told you I wanted to be a hero! You shut me down every time, refused to teach me how to use my powers like you do! _Damian_ helped me, showed me how to control it! You were so scared that I’d turn out like Conner that you drove me to be like him!”

The dam broke. Beams burst from his eyes, slamming into Clark’s chest and sending him flying back, crashing through the thin wooden slabs of the barn. Regret and shock flooded through Jon as he stumbled back. He hadn’t meant to do that. Oh, God, what if he hurt his own father?

Then there were hands on his face, forcing him to look into green eyes framed by dark lashes.

“Jonathan, snap out of it!” Damian commanded. “Control yourself!”

“Did I...Did I—” he couldn’t get the words out. Hot tears rushed to his eyes, only to boil away.

The hands softened, stroking, brushing under his eye as if to wipe away the evaporated tears. Impossibly, Damian’s voice was even softer. “Your father lives. Come, Beloved. Let’s go home.”

Jon shook his head. He needed to see his father for himself, he needed to beg for forgiveness, he needed to scream some more, he needed to cry—

Soft lips pressed against his, demanding his attention, gentle and commanding all at once. It was brief, no more than a few seconds, but it felt like years as Jon memorized the feeling, the taste, the sensation.

It was Jon’s first kiss.

“I love you,” the half-Kryptonian breathed out.

Damian’s hands dropped down to grab his. “I know. It’s time to go, Beloved.”

This time, Jon didn’t protest or resist. The two walked out of the damaged, moon-lit barn together, hand in hand.

* * *

It was a short flight from Hamilton County to Gotham, relatively, but Damian still insisted that Jon sleep. The younger teen hadn’t put up much of a fight, and within minutes had fallen into a fitful slumber. Damian stayed by his side, brushing his hair as he dreamt and admiring his body freely. It was in this position that Maya found him once the plane was safely on autopilot.

She didn’t say anything for a moment. She simply took in the scene, every minute detail. Damian didn’t bother to hide his affection for the young boy around her. Maya was family to him, just as much as his father and brothers. She was his general, his right hand, and she would never harm or betray him, no matter what weakness he showed.

“Was there a fight?” she asked, leaning in the doorway.

Damian’s voice was soft as he answered. “No. Not really.”

“Did you have to use the kryptonite?” Her gaze dropped to the place on his belt that she knew housed a small lead container, with an even smaller shard of green gem inside.

“No, actually. Jonathan handled his father. It was accidental, but it was the push that both of them needed to accept this divergence of paths.”

“So Superman just let his son run off with an assassin?”

“Not precisely. The details are immaterial. Jonathan is mine now. Superman is a fool. He didn’t realize how far he’d driven his son away until tonight. He understands now. I doubt he’ll reconcile that information any time soon, though. No doubt, he’ll sink into denial or self-loathing. I estimate that we should have about six months before he becomes a problem. By that time, I’m sure Todd and Drake will have come up with a satisfactory plan to prevent his interference.”

“You have it all figured out then?”

Damian leaned back, guiding Jon’s head onto his lap. “Of course, sister. I’ve had this all figured out from before Jonathan and I ever met. And all my plans are falling perfectly into place.”


	13. Spoiler

**The Past**

“Surrender,” Cluemaster ordered, his gun pointed squarely at Tim Drake-Wayne’s chest. He exaggerated the motion as he took the safety off, the distinct click dominating the silence of the large office.

“Must you do this tonight?” Tim sighed, slumping back in his massive office chair. He looked like a child sitting in his dad’s seat, even though he was anything but.

Cluemaster, though, only saw a child. A sixteen year old boy who was defenseless, all alone in his office on the highest floor of Wayne Enterprises. Even if he screamed, nobody would come. This late at night, all the employees had gone home and the security had already been taken care of. The man burned with the knowledge that he was finally getting his revenge, that at the pull of the trigger, he’d make Wayne pay for what he’d done. Besides, Wayne had other sons; really, Cluemaster was being merciful. He wasn’t even going after the heir, Richard. Still, Timothy’s death would get the message across just as nicely.

He did have to admit that he was a little put off by how nonchalant the boy seemed facing death.

“I’m going to enjoy this, you rich, spoiled brat,” he hissed, planting his feet. “You can tell your daddy—”

_ Bang! _

The bullet tore through the room, echoing, as blood splattered across the reflective black tiling. Cluemaster’s face glowed with his triumph.

Then he fell forward, the hole in his back bloody red against his gaudy orange suit. His last breath misted the tiles.

Tim frowned at the small speck of red that had landed on the white cuff of his shirt. “Oh, dear. Alfred will be displeased. Bloodstains can be so annoying.” Then he looked up at his savior. “Stephanie Brown. Thank you for your timely arrival.”

She dropped her arms, the still-smoking gun hanging at her side. A mask may have been covering the lower half of her face, but he could see her eyes, which had widened, and her brows, which shot up. A cursory glance assessed the rest of her outfit. She’d certainly come prepared; holster for the gun and a utility belt most likely stocked with the supplies necessary to get into Wayne Tower, plus dark purple clothes that appeared to be athletic or semi padded. She’d prepared for a fight in case the gun didn’t cut it. Tim approved. Back-up plans were vital.

“How the hell do you know who I am?” she demanded.

She had a nice voice, even when she was angry and surprised. Tim began unbuttoning his shirt. He saw her eyes flick to his nimble fingers.

“It’s a simple deduction. Cluemaster, aka Arthur Brown, has only two family members: a wife and a daughter. His wife works at a hospital as a nurse. It’s unlikely that she’d ever resort to such violence, although not unheard of. However, he also owns the house that she and her daughter live in, so killing him would almost be worse than leaving him alive, even though he’s a known convict always in and out of Blackgate and Arkham,” he listed off dryly. Two tugs and his shirt was off, leaving him only in a thin undershirt. He folded the bloodstained one up and set it on the desk, perfectly aligned with its contents. His eyes, cold and impossibly unfeeling, met hers. “That leaves his daughter. Stephanie Brown, seventeen, delinquency issues at school, who has a well known loathing for her father.”

“How do you know all that?” she demanded, bringing the gun back up.

His tone hardened. “Miss Brown, there’s no need to threaten me. I will gladly answer all your questions.”

“I don’t even know who you are. Why should I trust you?!”

“That’s fair,” he conceded, a hint of amusement softening the panes of his face. The difference was startling because of it. Such a tiny shift, yet suddenly Steph was struck with the realization that he was very handsome, very young, and half undressed. “My name is Tim Drake-Wayne. Co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Welcome to my office.”

She paled and dropped her gun. “Holy shit. You’re the Prince.”

“Maybe not  _ the  _ Prince. Just  _ a _ Prince,” he corrected.

“Are you going to kill me?” she whispered.

“Most definitely not. You just saved my life, Miss Brown. I believe that makes us friends. Very good friends, in fact, and I treat my friends well.”

She stared at him, fear and confusion and relief surging through her so quickly she could hardly process it all. But after a moment she realized that he was telling the truth. With that, she was able to shift the mask off her face and offer a tiny smile to him.

“Steph. I go by Steph, not Miss Brown.”

He dipped his head. “Of course. And you may call me Tim. Or Robin, at least among friends.”

Oh God. Every kid in Gotham knew about Robin, the feared second in command to Owlman himself. Every kid knew that if you misbehaved, if you crossed the Owl, then Robin would come for you, or one of the Princes. But it was only the kids from the slums and the Narrows who knew that the Princes and Robin and Wayne’s heirs were all one and the same. And she had just saved ones’ life.

“Do you call yourself anything?” he asked, eyes examining her. Not in the way that the horny guys at school did it, but with mechanical precision, like a machine. “You went through all the effort to get dressed up for the big day when you finally took out your father; you must have come up with something to go along with the uniform.”

She was almost embarrassed to admit it, but she couldn’t fathom lying to him either. “I’ve been calling myself Spoiler, because I’m ruining my dad’s plans. I, uh, didn’t know that he was involved with Owlman, or that he was planning to kill you.”

“That’s quite alright. I’ve known about Arthur Brown’s plan for two months now.”

“How?! I didn’t even know until I followed him tonight, and we lived together!”

He leaned back. She thought he seemed...amused, by her outburst. “It was simple. He did a few jobs at Owlman’s behest, as a fall guy for various jobs. He was always well compensated for his time, but he started becoming malcontent with his position.”

_ Malcontent,  _ Steph thought.  _ What seventeen year old uses the word ‘malcontent’ in a normal sentence? _

“The last arrest was particularly hard on him. He made some enemies among fellow employs of my family within Blackgate, and since then has been ostracized from our businesses. At that point, he began plotting revenge against my father for his firing. My brother has had agents keeping track of him, while I researched him, which is where I encountered you.”

Steph blinked. That was a lot to take in. Both that her father hadn’t been quite as low-level as she suspected, and that Tim had somehow predicted all of these events. She couldn’t hold back one question though.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been here?”

“A good question,” he said, like he was a teacher and she was a schoolgirl. In a way, that was true. They may be the same age, but she could tell that he was much smarter and much more experienced than she was. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I’m part of an organization called the Teen Titans. Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

“Well, duh, but aren’t they heroes?” Her eyes widened as she realized what she said. “Not that I think that you’re not!”

His head tipped back and this time he actually laughed instead of his closed lip grin. It was short, only a chuckle or two, but it was real. It seemed more boyish than anything else about him. She relaxed a little.

“Oh, I’m definitely not a hero, and I have no desire to be one either. I’m like you, Steph. I see the bad in the world, and I know that I can get rid of it, permanently. I see the way people like your father let themselves be cogs in a machine, crushed under its weight, and I know that I can do better than that.”

She couldn’t even answer him as the words lodged in her chest. He’d given form to all the anger and disgust she felt towards her father, and her own determination to be the one to get rid of him. Her father had been a pathetic man, an abusive man who wouldn’t even think about changing his lot in life. She was different. She wouldn’t be like him, a weak-willed slave to stronger men. She would make her own path, and when she looked in Tim’s eyes, she could see that same fire reflected in him.

“My parents were like your dad, Steph. Rich, no doubt, but they had no  _ ambition,”  _ he stressed. “They were wealthy enough to get into all the big events and masquerade with the upper crust, but they were one bad quarter away from losing it all, and they didn’t care. They wouldn’t take risks, they wouldn’t rock the boat to advance themselves, to take control like their wealth should have entitled them to. They liked being pretty, airheaded socialites. So I killed them.”

The words rolled off his tongue with no difficulty, and she understood. She understood his distance from the act just as she no longer cared about her father’s cooling body. They had all been obstacles and they’d all been removed.

“I understand,” she told him.

“I know you do. Which is why I have a proposition for you, Stephanie.” He leaned forward on his elbows, an intent look on his face.

“What is it?”

“I need a right hand, Steph. Someone who understands what has to be done to make real change. Someone who I can trust.”

She crossed her arms. “We just met. What makes you think I can be that for you?”

“You did just save my life. And let’s just say that I have a good feeling about you.”

That was alarmingly vague after the peek inside his calculating mind. She had no doubt there was more to it than he was saying, but she wasn’t going to push a Prince of Gotham if he didn’t want to spill to her yet.

“What exactly would being your ‘right hand’ entail?” she asked.

“You’d be my bodyguard and my confidant. You’ll keep me company when I need it or assist my Titans when I say to or deal with other matters with my family. You’d be transferred to Gotham Academy to finish your schooling with me. I can promise you that you’ll have anything you could want or dream of. Money, riches, all of it. You would never have to worry about jail or cops. You’d be a Wayne in all but name.”

There was no way...It was too good to be true. “I didn’t realize being a Wayne was a club you could join.”

“My brothers and I are adopted, aren’t we?” he challenged. “There are others, too. My team, my brother Dick’s team, they all benefit from our relationships and our wealth. You’d be among us.”

“Well, then, Tim,” she said, striding forward, walking over her father’s body. She stuck out her hand. “It seems we have a deal. I’m in.”

He shook her hand, then kissed the back of it. “Welcome to the family, Steph. I will contact you in the morning with more details. Sleep well. I’ll dispose of your father. You may tell your mother whatever you wish.”

She nodded and left, her mind awhirl. Tim stayed in his chair, idly studying the way the blood distorted the reflections in the tile when a shadow detached from the darkness and slinked towards him, seating itself on his desk. He tilted his head over to look at it.

“Thank you for your help tonight, Cass.”

The only daughter of Owlman shook her head. “Didn’t need it.”

“No. Stephanie was everything I imagined and more. I believe Arthur Brown’s only true assistance he’ll have ever given our family is making her. But I appreciate your presence. It’s always best to have a back-up plan.”

Cass tilted her head, her dark hair rippling like silk. “Why her?”

Tim met his sister’s eyes. “I like her. She’s not afraid of violence, but not a sadist. Strong morals, confidence, and anger. Anger can be shaped so well. Just look at what I’ve done with Kon. And she’s human. My Titans are helpful, but they rely on their flashy powers. They’re too recognizable. I need an ace in the sleeve, a secret weapon, someone the gangsters and drug dealers could learn to fear the way they fear my brothers. Someone completely separate from the League and their emotional manipulation.”

“Using her.”

“Of course. Why? Do you have a problem with that?”

“No. I like her, too. Use her well.”

He smiled, standing up from his desk and leaning forward to peck Cass’s cheek. “I will. I think she’ll be around for a long time.”


	14. The Break-up

**The Present**

“This is really happening?” Bart asked, tapping his foot so rapidly it began to blur. “I mean, we’re really going to do this? Right now? Today? Because this is fucking crazy. Even crazier than usual.”

“We know, Bart,” Cassie interrupted, her head resting on Donna’s shoulder as the older Amazonian stroked her hair. “We’re doing this. We agreed.”

Bart’s leg only beat faster. The Titans and the Teen Titans were crammed into the prep area to the side of the stage that had been set up on the lawn of Wayne Manor, far away from the main house. The older Titans looked completely relaxed. Garth and Roy were lounging in the grass, hands tangled together, while Donna soothed Cassie. Kon, Bart, and Steph all looked a little anxious, sitting next to each other in a group of chairs. The Princes were conspicuously missing.

“I just want to get this over with already,” Steph grumbled. “I hate public appearances.”

“You just have to stand with us on stage,” Cassie assured her. “Kon and I will do all the necessary talking.”

“I don’t get to say anything?” Bart asked.

Cassie, Kon, Steph, Garth, Roy, and Donna all said, “No,” in unison.

“Aww.”

“Bro, we love you, but you cannot be trusted to speak in front of crowds,” Kon said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“What are you talking about?!”

“One, you’ll probably say something that you’re not supposed to because you got pizza from Coast City during the briefing rather than listening and two, you tend to speak too fast for humans to understand when you get nervous. Speaking to the press would make you nervous.”

Bart squawked, but before he could launch into a fresh tirade, Wally appeared and caught him in a headlock, ruffling his hair. The two speedsters grappled for a literal second, moving so quickly no one besides Kon could see them wrestling, before straightening back up. Cassie’s head lifted from Donna’s shoulder and everyone else turned to Wally.

“Showtime,” Wally announced.

They all stood, fixing every hair out of place and sliding into formation. The Titans went first, led by Donna, and then the Teen Titans, led by Cassie. They ascended the steps and emerged on the large stage to the roar of the crowd and the flash of dozens of cameras. They all smiled and waved, their uniforms dazzling in the daylight, their posture proud and tall, like gods walking on the earth. There were two podiums set up in the center of the stage and Cassie and Donna walked right to them. Their teams lined up behind them, disciplined as soldiers. Gradually, the crowd silenced as Donna adjusted her mic.

“Thank you all for coming here,” she said, her voice the sound of music and the sea and beauty, rolling over the crowd. Multiple signs proclaiming “We ❤ Troia” were raised and she smiled at them. Cameras flashed again, making the thousands of stars on her uniform twinkle. “I am sure everyone is wondering why myself, on behalf of the Titans and the Teen Titans, called this meeting today. I would first like to thank the Wayne family and Bruce Wayne himself, for arranging this for us and offering his own home while we cannot safely return to our beloved Titans Tower.”

A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd and Donna nodded along sympathetically. “I am sad to report that the organization I founded in my youth with my closest friends, Tempest, Arsenal, and the Flash, that has welcomed a new generation of heroes who now stand on this stage beside me, can no longer feel safe in Titans Tower, which everyone knows is public property, given to us by the state of New York. It is because it is a public place that we cannot go there without fear of retaliation from the Justice League of America.”

The murmur turned into an uproar. Shouting and shoving began turning the crowd into a rough sea, reporters shoving even closer only to be pushed back by Wayne’s security team guarding the stage. Wayne himself, and his five children, were unbothered by the masses, all perfectly at ease on the shaded dais that was set up off to stage left, rulers on their thrones lording over the peasantry.

Donna held up a hand. “Please, let me explain.” It didn’t quiet all the way back down, but she continued. “As I am sure everyone is well aware, the Titans have always enjoyed a beneficial working relationship with the Justice League. Many League members are dear mentors or family to us, including my own sister, Wonder Woman. However, I regret to inform the public that after ten years of collaboration, the Justice League informed the Titans that our treasured and vital partnership has been terminated. They declined to provide adequate reason to the Titans for their decision and insinuated that they would take action against us if we continued to operate on our own. Therefore, for the time being, we will not be returning to Titans Tower, for fear of the League’s anger.”

“The Justice League approached the Teen Titans as well,” Cassie said, picking up the thread seamlessly. Her golden jewelry shone in the sunlight and her lips were painted blood red. “They informed us that our only options were to sever all ties with the Titans or disband our team.”

The crowd began booing and it was clear that it was not the Titans, teen or otherwise, who they were displeased with.

“Troia and I are heartbroken by the League’s decision to break the important alliance between our two organizations that has led to countless lives saved. The Titans, myself, and my team, all fear that the League has lost sight of their original goal, the protection of innocent lives, and instead have become gatekeepers to the superhero community, demanding that things be done their way, or not at all!” Cassie’s voice soared and the crowd roared back. “And I stand here to assure you, on behalf of my team, that the Teen Titans  _ will  _ continue and we will stand by the Titans!”

Applause burst like firecrackers. Cassie smiled like a victorious goddess of war, her dark twin next to her wearing the night sky, two Amazonians rising in solidarity against the most famous heroes on the planet, including their own sister. Two heroic teams uniting against their former mentors. It was a revolution, and even if the crowd didn’t know it yet, they could taste the change in the air, feel the electric current of energy, building and building.

“Thank you, Wonder Girl,” Donna said and another hush followed. Her bright eyes raked over the crowd. “It pains the Titans that our young mentees are suffering from the League’s feud with us, and that all of you, all of the many people living on this beautiful planet, are suffering from this schism. We may no longer have the support of the Justice League nor our base of operations, but I want to assure everyone here and everyone watching this, that if we are needed the Titans  _ will  _ be there. No Justice League will stop us from helping  _ you!” _

They cheered, like mindless puppets on strings. Donna and Cassie stepped away from their podiums, joining their teams. All of the heroes stepped forward, hand in hand, raising their arms to present an unbreakable line and the crowd melted into hysterics.

Above the tumultuous assembly, Dick Grayson, the First Prince, rolled his head to say to his king, “My Donna did well, didn’t she?”

“They both did,” Cass added, standing behind the middle throne.

“They certainly have people riled up,” Jason agreed, blowing out a trail of smoke and snubbing his cigarette on the arm of his throne. “This should get the intended reaction, right?”

“It already has,” Tim said, scrolling through his phone. He turned the screen so they could see the bold headline dominating the New York Times: “JUSTICE LEAGUE SEEKS TO DESTROY TITANS.”

“Well, there you go.”

“ _ Tt.  _ Media is fickle, Drake. The conversation could very well turn against the Titans overnight,” Damian said, his nose wrinkling as Jason’s smoke blew his way.

“It could, but it won’t. I already have people working on that and Dick swayed a few minds last night. We’re covered.”

Dick grinned at the compliment, something too sharp about the light in his eyes. Damian examined him for a moment, then nodded in approval. Onstage, Kon, Cassie, Donna, and Wally were sitting down on the edge, talking to reporters over the heads of the security team. The rest of the heroes had disappeared backstage again, like planned. Putting Roy or Bart in front of a camera was asking for disaster.

“So?” Damian said, his eyes on the quiet figure in their center. “Are you pleased with these events, Father?”

Bruce Wayne leaned back in his seat, covering the hand Cassandra had laid on his shoulder with his own enormous hand. The faintest of smiles tugged at the stern corner of his lips.

“Yes. I am very pleased.”

The Princes all grinned in victory and then stood, setting off to set the next part of the plan into motion.

Things would be moving quickly now, and they needed to be ready.


	15. Loyalties

**The Present**

Jon didn’t know what he was doing here.

A level below them, the club literally shook from the boom of the stereos and the thumping feet of dozens of people dancing and grinding, the haze of vape and smoke clouding the air. The first time Jon had entered Gabriel’s Horn, he’d nearly had sensory overload, worse than anything he’d experienced in Hamilton County, but now he’d grown accustomed to it. Now he craved it, the overwhelming decadence and invigorating thrum of life. But usually when he came to the club, the Princes stopped their business talk or one of the Titans dragged him to the dance floor and kept him busy.

Tonight, no one seemed to care that he was there.

Dick was mixing drinks at his private bar, doling them out with a generous hand though Jon had yet to see him take a sip himself, and his Titans were sitting on the barstools before him. Jason, Cassandra, and Steph had taken one of the absurdly expensive couches and Tim and Cassie were on the other. Kon and Bart were down on the dance floor while Maya guarded the stairwell to the mezzanine. Jon could hear her steering away desperate people hoping to petition the Princes every few minutes, but she had it well in hand.

Damian’s hand settled on the back of his neck and Jon had to bite his lip. His eyes darted to Damian, but the Prince wasn’t even paying attention to him, his green eyes trained on Tim, who was running through a series of massive numbers that Jon had trouble equating to actual dollar amounts.  _ Especially  _ when Damian was touching him.

Jon had left his home two weeks ago and he hadn’t regretted his decision once.

“Let’s cut to the important shit already,” Jason interrupted in his deep, raspy voice, arms spread along the back of the couch. “We know you’re handling the finances just fine, Tim. Tell us about the plan.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t sure what “the plan” was, but he could hear the emphasis Jason put on it. Still, he knew it wasn’t his place to ask, not here.

“Finances are important, Jay,” the third Prince said coolly, hands folded in his lap. “How do you think I keep all of your safehouses secret and stocked?”

“We know, Timmy, and we appreciate that,” Dick said lightly, leaning on his elbows on the bar. “But you know we trust you. C’mon, let’s get to the interesting stuff. I have to get back to Bludhaven in a few hours.”

Cass tilted her head. “Problem?”

The oldest smiled at her, though Jon noticed that his eyes were unfocused. “Nothing for you to worry about, little sister. I’ll have it sorted by noon.” His gaze sharpened and landed on Tim. Jon was jarred by how quick the change was. “Timmy? The plan?”

Damian’s hand tightened momentarily and Jon watched him. He seemed almost...excited, which was unusual. Damian was also so perfectly calm and put together, even when he was facing off with Superman. It was much more like Dick or Jason to show excitement, usually at the prospect of getting to hurt someone. But Damian was staring at Tim, body coiled, seemingly uncaring for the way he was squeezing Jon’s throat, which might have hurt if he weren’t Kryptonian. 

It was...kind of hot, to see him all worked up. Together, with the overwhelming thrum of the music and the delicious scent of Damian so close to him, intoxicating, Jon found himself desperately hoping that this meeting would end soon so they could go back to the penthouse together and—

“The plan is going perfectly,” Tim reported and Jon was jolted out of his thoughts. “After Donna and Cassie’s announcement, public opinion was overwhelmingly in support of the Titans organization. As you already know, people took to the streets of New York demanding the League allow the Titans to return to the Tower and the governor of New York supported their protests. The League finally issued a statement yesterday, via Superman, which only read that the League claims to have never banned the Titans from their Tower or made threats against their physical safety in their base of operations.”

“Which is true,” Roy said offhandedly.

Jon’s eyebrow shot up. He’d been following the news like everyone in the nation, and the world really, about the public split between the League and the Titans, but he actually hadn’t heard the Titans version of events himself. So the League hadn’t kicked the Titans out of the Tower? Then why had they claimed that?

“Oh, sure,” Dick said, now sitting on the bar, spinning a wickedly sharp knife on the tip of his finger. “But the truth doesn’t actually matter to the public. They just want a good story."

“Which we gave them,” Tim agreed. He crossed his ankle over his knee, his blazer falling open and his tie loose. He was still dressed for work at WE while everyone else was in their casual or clubbing clothes. “The public loves a villain. We made the Titans the underdog, the young, heroic, and undervalued team that the evil and outdated League is trying to control. And the League’s lack of response only made them seem more guilty, especially as they didn’t deny that they told the Titans to disband. And now people think their actual response is just some way of trying to cover up their actions. Honestly, I’ve barely had to manipulate the discourse at all. Humans can be such vicious creatures.”

He said that like a scientist describing a shark, as if he were separate, or more than human. Jon wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Tim was really a robot or something.

Tim carried on, now consulting a tablet. “As for other matters on the public front, I’ll be sending my team to help in some disaster zones for good press. Dick—”

“You can have my Titans for the time being,” he interrupted. Roy and Wally turned to him with betrayed looks, Donna looked unsurprised, and Garth...Jon wasn’t sure, actually. Damian had kept him away from the Titans, in a way that Jon couldn’t pretend was a mistake, so he couldn’t really understand them.

“You don’t need them in Bludhaven?”

“Fuck that,” Roy asserted, halfway off of his stool, gripping the bar, staring at his lover with burning eyes. “We’re not leaving you alone in that shithole.”

Dick laughed, delighted and on the edge of deranged. “So overprotective. I can take care of myself, Roy. And it may be a shithole, but I’m the king.”

Jason leaned forward, a serious look on his face. “Sorry, Big Bird, but I’m going to side with your boytoy. Yes, you’re technically the big boss in Bludhaven, but that can change quickly. You haven’t solidified a stronghold yet, and my kids have been hearing rumors about some people who lost a lot of money when you shot Blockbuster. Now’s not the time to get cocky.”

Steph snorted. “You know if Jay is saying you’re being cocky, you’re being cocky.”

Damian’s hand slid off of Jon’s neck and the young alien frowned. He watched as Damian stalked across the balcony to the bar. Dick raised an eyebrow and straightened up as Damian came to a sharp stop in front of him.

“Little D,” he said pleasantly.

“Richard,” Damian said tightly. “I refuse to allow you to risk your safety in such a needless manner.”

Jon was surprised that Damian was so openly showing emotion, even in a controlling, rude way. Although, he also knew that Damian was closest with Dick of all the Princes. Damian had never actually talked to Jon explicitly about his relationship with his family, but it was obvious in the way that he talked about Dick that he liked him best, not to mention the fact that they lived together.

And clearly his feelings were reciprocated, because Jon watched as Dick actually considered Damian’s words instead of shrugging them off.

“Tim can make better use of the Titans right now than I can,” he said, which wasn’t a rebuke.

“Just keep one of us with you. That’ll be enough,” Roy suggested, reaching across the bar to brush back Dick’s dark bangs.

“One of you is not nearly adequate for Richard’s protection,” Damian snarled.

“Chill, kid,” Jason called.

“What do you suggest, then?” Dick asked, tilting his head, eyes trained on Damian.

Jon clearly saw the surge of pride Damian felt at being picked over the others. His boyfriend (oh God, is that what Damian was to him? They’d never even talked about it, and he couldn’t imagine actually talking about it) straightened and tilted his chin up.

“Kent and I will accompany you to Bludhaven this week,” he said and Jon nearly stumbled. “Your harem can do as Timothy commands them until the plan has succeeded. The two of us will be sufficient for your needs.”

He said it so confidently, with no room for disagreement. Not that Jon could have disagreed: he was still reeling from the announcement.

Dick smiled. “You want to be my bodyguard? How sweet.”

_ “Tt. _ Don’t be childish. It makes the most logical sense for Kent and I to guard you. Everyone else is needed elsewhere for the next part except for Kent and I.”

“What, I have to deal with the gangs myself?” Jason complained.

Cass elbowed him. “Don’t complain. I will help.”

“Sweet. Upgrade. Enjoy ‘Haven with the demon spawn and his pet.” He yelped as he was elbowed by his sister again. “What was that for?”

“You have horrendous manners, Todd.” Damian adjusted his cuffs and stalked back across the balcony. He slid a possessive hand up Jon’s arm and the teen just watched him. “We’ll meet you in Bludhaven later, Richard.”

“Tim still has more stuff on the agenda,” Steph said.

“None of which is my concern. Richard can fill me in if needed.”

Dick grinned at his baby brother. “See you in a bit, little D.”

The next part happened quickly. Damian took Jon’s arm, pressing them close together, the Prince said his goodbyes, and then they were leaving the club, walking down the stairs and onto the crowded, sweating, noisy, smelly dance floor, large men in all black keeping the throngs of club goers from touching them— or rather, from touching the Prince of Gotham. Jon thought he saw Maya tailing them, but he wasn’t sure. Even with his powerful senses, she had an unnerving way of evading his perception, which was no doubt why Damian liked her. Then they were on the street and getting into Damian’s sleek black car that looked like it cost more than a college education and they were zipping through the streets of Gotham.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Jonathan,” Damian commanded, whipping the wheel about and not looking over at his passenger. Jon had noticed that the Princes almost always drove their own vehicles for some reason, even though they each had a personal driver.

“It’s nothing,” he said, mind still awhirl.

“If there was nothing in your head, you wouldn’t be allowed in my vicinity. Tell me. I want you to be able to talk to me freely, Beloved.”

The sweet endearment, so old fashioned yet so fitting in Damian’s lightly accented voice, cleared some of the fog from Jon’s head, bringing back the sensation of their arms around each other, lips pressed together. He picked at a hole in his jeans for a moment, then looked up, his face set.

“I’m just confused. I mean, you know I love you, that I want to be with you, but we haven’t really talked about...any of this, I guess. And everything seems to be moving so fast and I don’t know what you and your brothers are planning and now we’re going to Bludhaven to do...something.” He sighed, fisting his hands in his lap. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Damian’s green eyes cut towards him as they zoomed through a red light, and then they took a sharp right turn and Jon slammed into the car door, which would have hurt were he human.

“Hey, Damian, what are you—”

“You’re right, Beloved,” he said, eyes trained on the road again. They were heading downtown, deeper into the heart of Gotham, cars blurring out their windows, too close, too fast. Neither of them were worried about crashing. “I haven’t explained a great deal of things to you, and some of them you don’t need to know yet, nor I suspect, while you even care about. But my attention has been split these last few weeks when I should have been focused on settling you in.”

That was almost an apology, and Jon hadn’t ever expected, nor wanted, to hear one from him.

“It’s fine, I understand—”

“Let me finish.” Jon bit his lip and nodded. Damian whipped the wheel again before straightening out and continuing. “I’m sure you’ve gleaned some of my family business by now. Tell me what you know.”

He wasn’t exactly prepared for a quiz, but he rose to the challenge. “Your father is Owlman.” A curt nod. “He runs everything. You and your brother are his Princes. Tim is the public face of the company, but he also runs the more illegal operations. Dick is…” His mind flashed to the galas he’d been to, where he’s always seen Dick charming a room, seducing people left and right, but also him in his club, sitting on the mezzanine like a king while Amazons, Atlanteans, and superheroes adored him. “I don’t know exactly what to say for him. But he deals with the politicians and stuff.”

“Sufficient,” Damian conceded. It wasn’t glowing praise, but it was enough for Jon to keep going.

“Jason runs the gangs. And, uh, deals with competition. Cassandra is an assassin, I think. I haven’t really been around her much.”

“A rudimentary analysis.” The words were demeaning, but his tone wasn’t. “Timothy does indeed handle the more fine details of our businesses. Richard serves a dual purpose, as both our negotiator and as Father’s hand in matters.”

“Like Bludhaven,” Jon said, remembering the discussion in the club and the new assignment Damian had volunteered for.

“Like Bludhaven. We currently expanded our influence there and Richard is overseeing events until the region is more stable. Todd, as you said, is in charge of gangs, lowlifes, informants, and the like. An exhausting duty, but one he relishes. Cassandra is our best assassin and fighter. She travels, dealing with those who cross us or overstep the line.” The Damian smirked at him, mysterious and beautiful, his dark hair absorbing the neon lights of the city. “I can’t help but notice you failed to define my role.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “To be honest, I’m not exactly sure what you do.”

The Prince hummed. “A smart answer. In short, as I am still legally a minor,” his lip curled in distaste at that admission, “I do not hold an official position within my family. I often assist Richard and Todd with their duties, and in Cassandra’s absence I will work in her capacity. Recently, I have convinced Father to let me handle the training of our top men and bodyguards.”

They whipped another corner. At this point, Jon was hopelessly lost, both literally and figuratively. 

“I don’t know why you’re telling me all this,” he admitted.

“Simple, Beloved. You are family now.  _ Mine.” _

Hearing Damian’s possessive growl did things to him that would normally have him blushing and stuttering, but everything felt so unreal all he could do was stare.

“And as such, you are entitled to know about the family. It will be up to you how involved you chose to be.”

“It will?”

“Of course. I’m not your father, and I have no wish to dictate how you live your life, how you use or don’t use your powers. But because everything is so new to you, I am going to ask that you come to Bludhaven with me and work with Richard.”

“Of course I will.” He didn’t even need to think about it.

“I’m glad. But there will be more work after that if you wish, Jonathan, and I do not want you to blindly agree to that. You’ve seen the news. You know my brothers’ Titans are breaking from the League. And now, you know that most of this is staged.”

“Most?”

“The Titans did meet with the League and officially sever ties. Otherwise, it’s a mixture of Timothy’s planning and Father’s scheming, helped along by Jason’s little birds and Dick’s suggestions to some key people.”

“But why? Isn’t it risky to antagonize the League?”

“No. Not if done right, and my Father is never wrong. The League is foolish and ineffective, Beloved, and they don’t even realize it. They place more value on the lives of the villains and madmen they face than the civilians they supposedly serve. They have no oversight, they’re composed mostly of aliens, and they are constantly crippled by infighting. They must be disposed of before they irrevocably harm this planet.”

“I’m an alien,” Jon said, shifting uncomfortably.

Damian’s hand covered his hand and squeezed. “But you’re also half-human, as is your brother. Both of you aren’t weighed down by your father’s constant search for belonging among a people long dead. Kon-El and the rest of the Titans once followed the League, and all that obedience got them was patronization from the League and an endless list of barriers preventing them from truly helping people, from making a substantial difference.”

“But you’re an assassin. Owlman runs a criminal empire.”

Damian flashed his teeth. “To keep other monsters in line, you must be the biggest, strongest, smartest monster. My family has adapted to the needs of this world. There will always be those who want to harm others or amass power, but it’s better to put them to use, keep them busy and minimize the harm they cause than to keep shunting them through the ever-revolving door of the corrupt prison system.” His voice softened. “Do you understand, Beloved?”

“I...do. It’s just...really,  _ really  _ different than what my parents told me,” he admitted, peeking over shyly. “I’m not used to any of this.”

“I will be here to help you adjust. From now on,  _ you  _ are my priority.”

A hot flush crawled up his cheeks and he was glad the interior of the car was so dark. And quiet. The car made no noise, slipping through the city streets like a panther, and even the ever present hum of the city was muted. Damian had slowed some, but Jon didn’t recognize the street they were on. Restaurants and art galleries and novelty stores floated by, pedestrian when compared to the vibrant emerald of Damian’s eyes.

“So your family is trying to get rid of the League.”

“Yes.”

Jon frowned. “You’re not going to kill them, right?”

“That is not the plan. It would be a waste of resources.”

“So how are you getting rid of them?”

“ _ We—”  _ he corrected in a purr, “are going to turn the public against them, entice governments to withdraw support, cut off their funding, bleed them from every angle we can until they concede.”

“What then?”

“That depends on you.”

Jon jumped and his seat belt snapped against his chest. “Me?!”

“Yes, Beloved. You. My brothers have their Titans, but Timothy and Richard cannot publicly lead their teams, which means the Titans need a leader, someone the public would trust, someone strong and powerful.”

“But…  _ me?  _ Why not Donna or Kon or Cassie or—”

“Kon-El is not a leader, Cassie and Donna are wonderful lieutenants, but neither of them are as recognizable, as inherently trustworthy, as the son of Superman.” Damian reached over and tapped the center of his chest. “You could claim your House sigil, put on the cape. You look so much like your father there will be no doubt that you are his heir. You are young and from the Earth. The people would trust you just by association, they would  _ want  _ to follow you. It makes sense.”

“It doesn’t make sense! I’m only fourteen, I can’t lead the Titans!”

“Richard was only twelve when he took charge of his Titans. Timothy was fourteen, just as you are. Besides, the team you would be working with would already be experienced. I feel confident that you could handle it, otherwise I would not consider it.” Damian came to an abrupt stop at the foot of City Hall, in the middle of the road. He reached out and cupped Jon’s cheek, looking deeply into his eyes. “And you do not have to decide now.”

“This is crazy,” Jon whispered, but he leaned into the touch.

“Look outside.”

The window rolled down and Jon reluctantly pulled away. Sound came rushing back in a flood, a harsh dissonance of angry voices, raised in protest, chanting, yelling. He peeked out and saw dozens, maybe two hundred, protestors gathered on the steps of City Hall, which loomed over them and their homemade signs, white and marble and silent. Then he read the signs.

“‘Abolish the Justice League.’ ‘No More League.’” he read, then turned back to Damian.

“It’s already begun, Beloved. This is happening around the world, and it’s only going to pick up steam. And you could be the tipping point.”

Jon wasn’t sure what to say to that. He wasn’t sure what to feel. Thankfully, Damian didn’t seem to want an answer. He rolled up the windows and then they were jetting off again.

“For now, we have an appointment in Bludhaven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this, left kudos, or commented! This story will be completed, but I'm probably going into a hiatus during the holidays, so don't be surprised if there isn't a new chapter next week. But, I repeat, I will finish this story. Everyone stay safe and healthy. Happy holidays!


	16. Damian Wayne

**The Past**

“What are we doing, Grayson?” Damian demanded, struggling to keep up with the twenty-year old man. He was wearing his ridiculous tight, black suit with flamboyant blue stripes on the chest and arms, while Damian was in proper League attire, a dark hood pulled low over his face.

“Taking the rooftop express,” the man said, effortlessly bounding over a gap between buildings, flipping once for dramatic effect. “And you don’t have to call me Grayson. This isn’t the League and we’re brothers. Call me Dick.”

“I  _ refuse  _ to utter such an absurd sobriquet and you are  _ not  _ my brother. You’re a sadist my father took in when he had no blood heir.”

Grayson paused atop a chimney, raised an eyebrow down at Damian, who had just stumbled onto the roof, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Damian straightened up, his lungs straining, but he refused to pant and show weakness. Grayson took a step back, spreading his arms wide, and then he was falling. Damian rushed forward and as he reached the edge of the roof he heard the sound of a grapnel gun and then caught a blue flash landing on an adjacent balcony.

_ “Tt.” _

Talia had told him everything she knew about his father’s pets, but somehow she had failed to mention how  _ infuriating  _ Grayson is. Damian had been following him in a pointless chase for an hour now, across the dark and grimy roofs of Gotham and no amount of demanding, pestering, and whining had gotten an answer as to their destination out of Grayson. He’d gotten the impression that Grayson barely cared he was here. There was something almost vacant in his expression and he only bothered to answer Damian half the time.

Damian would be having words with his father later about sticking him with such a fool.

He still pulled out his grapnel, though, and fired towards the balcony, swinging across a moment later. Grayson hadn’t waited for him and was already dropping balcony by balcony down the building, balancing on railings and swinging down fire escapes. Damian growled in annoyance, but started his descent. He couldn’t risk ditching Grayson when the man might be leading him somewhere important or testing him for his father. He couldn’t afford to fail, and he needed to prove that he could obey his father, even if the urge to strangle Grayson was growing.

By the time Damian dropped into the piss-scented Gotham alley his hand was twitching towards his dagger and Grayson had vanished from sight. He growled, looking around, but he couldn’t even find a glimpse of black and blue. There were only tattered, water-logged posters clinging to the alley walls, deep puddles of sewage, and a few vagrants, homeless and the like, scattered at large intervals. None of them seemed very interested in the boy with a sword on his back dropping in their midst. He sneered as one grungy old man shuffled by him. Pathetic.

As he neared the end of the alley, there was still no sign of Grayson and the sounds of the red light district were growing more distinct. He was tempted to call Pennyworth and end this whole little adventure, but he didn’t. This still might be a test, and it wasn’t one he planned to fail.

“Stop it, ya stupid dog!”

Damian frowned as the shout reached his ears. He turned to see a tall, muscular man sporting a substantial number of tattoos kicking at a dog with his combat boots. The man was eating a hamburger and it seemed the dog had tried to nab a bite. The creature was a Great Dane pup by the look of him, although it was hard to look at something that small and injured and call it ‘great.’

Before Damian quite knew what he was doing, he found himself walking towards the man.

“Git out of here or I’ll skin— who’re you, then?” the man asked when he noticed Damian.

“Leave the dog alone,” he warned.

The man looked him up and down and then burst out laughing, his large shoulders heaving. Damian’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword.

“Ya gonna make me, little boy? Run on back to mommy now—”

Damian moved. A flash of steel, a choking gasp, and then the man was slumping to the ground, twitching in his last throes as blood steadily seeped out of his neck. Damian wiped his sword clean on the man’s ratty wifebeater, then sheathed it. He tilted his head at the pup, which hadn’t moved and was making a low, whimpering noise.

He knelt down and studied it. He couldn’t see any visible injuries, but with the way the pup was curled in on itself, it was likely his ribs were hurt, maybe broken. Under further inspection, he noticed a spot of blood on it’s torso, blending in with the dark fur. He pulled off his hood and cut a length of cloth off with his knife. He’d never treated the injuries of a dog before, but he guessed that the concept must be similar to tending to a dragonbat pup.

“What did you do?”

The voice was cold as ice, just like the hand that closed around his throat and yanked him to his feet. He didn’t struggle because he knew that voice, and the hand wasn’t actually painful (yet).

“Release me,” he demanded. It came out sounding too much like a gasp for his liking.

Grayson did, although Damian wasn’t arrogant enough to believe it was because of his demand. The man’s intense blue eyes seemed more focused now than he had ever seen, painfully present instead of wandering, and they were trained on the corpse washing the alley in blood. You couldn’t even smell the blood over all the piss.

“I let you out of sight for one minute and you kill a man,” Grayson said, his voice oddly flat. Damian hated it. He could handle anger or disappointment or something, but the neutrality set him on edge. He didn’t know how to react.

“What do you care about this peasant?”

“Not a thing. But this is the red light district: do you know how many cops hang out in the red light district off-duty?  _ All of them.  _ And even those bastards would report a body, which it seems you were just going to leave lying here.”

Damian scowled. Grayson still wouldn’t even look at him. He’d moved to crouch next to the body, which he was prodding with his escrima sticks irreverently.

“He’ll just be another body. Gotham is used to those, and I doubt your idiotic law officers could somehow trace this back to me anyways.”

Grayson didn’t say anything. He just poked more at the body, turning it over to frisk his pockets. He tucked the wallet and phone he found somewhere into his uniform, which was strange because Damian couldn’t discern any pockets on the skin-tight suit. Then he unfolded to his full height, nearly two feet taller than Damian, and looked down at him,  _ something  _ simmering in his eyes, but his face gave away nothing.

“Why’d you kill him?”

He knew he couldn’t lie, especially with the pup still lying there, wrapped in Damian’s mangled hood. He gestured down at the pup anyways. “He was hurting the dog.”

“That was it?”

“He was also rude to me and I don’t suffer insults.”

Grayson’s face did something complex and Damian’s hands moved to his sheathed daggers, but then Grayson was laughing, delighted and deranged, slumping against the alley wall as he ran out of breath. Damian was so perplexed all he did was watch.

“Oh, Little D,” Damian withheld the urge to kill him for that  _ ridiculous  _ nickname as Grayson smiled at him, actually  _ smiled,  _ “I think you and I are going to get along wonderfully.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Nope, that’s your nickname now. I give them to all my siblings. Jason is Little Wing, Cassandra is Cass, Tim is Timmy, and you’re Little D.”

“Those are all terrible,” he informed him. It did nothing to melt his smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, killing this man was unnecessary and poorly thought out, but I think this is the first time I’ve actually liked you. I’ll still need to tell B about all of this, but as a favor, I’ll deal with this mess.”

Damian sneered at the corpse. “Just leave him here. It might improve the smell.”

“No can do. If there’s even a fraction of a chance that this body can be linked to the family, then we need to get rid of the evidence.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. Whoever he called answered within a second, before Damian could even hear the first ring, and then Dick was saying, “I’m in the red light district, come here now.”

“Who was that?” he asked, crossing his arms.

There was a sharp breeze and some of the faded posters went swirling about them. When they settled, there was a red headed man standing there. “Me. Hey, babe.”

Damian watched in disgust as Grayson sauntered over to the man and made out with him for entirely too long. When they pulled apart, the redhead was looking noticeably flushed.

“I could use a little clean up help here,” Grayson admitted, twirling an escrima.

The man’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the body. “Please tell me this was someone really awful and not just a sport killing.”

“He was an abuser,” Grayson said smoothly. Damian raised an eyebrow. Grayson hadn’t even seen the man kick the dog, nor had he specified animal abuser. However, the redhead didn’t question it.

“I’ll take care of this. See you at the club later?”

“Of course, Walls” Grayson purred as the man kissed his cheek. There was another sharp breeze and when it faded the man and the corpse were gone.

“You lied to him,” Damian said. It didn’t quite come out as the accusation he’d intended.

He didn’t even bat an eye. “I didn’t. I told him what he needed to hear. All the details are just that— details. Now, I’ve already called Alfred to come pick us up. I assume we’ll be making a stop at the vets?”

Damian scooped the pup into his arms and joined his bro— the man. “Yes. And the pet store, too.”

Grayson nodded. “Sure. Have you come up with a name yet?”

He looked down into the vulnerable brown eyes of the pup. He was small now, but he would grow quickly and then he’d be magnificent. He’d need a suitable name to match him. Damian double-checked the pup was a ‘him.’

After a moment, just as they stepped onto the sidewalk right where the limo pulled up, Damian said, “His name shall be Titus.”

Grayson laughed. “You’re a strange little kid, you know that?  _ Titus.  _ Although I don’t know what I was expecting after you named your dragonbat  _ Goliath.” _

“Those are perfectly acceptable names!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a bit since I posted, so I thought I'd post this one. More chapters to come, but I'm not sure I can do a weekly schedule anymore. Thank you for reading!


	17. The DA

**The Present**

“Mr. Grayson, it is an honor to have you here with us.”

Dick smiled, his perfect smile that graced the cover of magazines and stole hearts. He practiced every day to make sure it didn’t look anything like his normal smile, which Jaybird said, quote, “Makes you look like a fuckin’ psychopath.” No, that smile wouldn’t do at all for lunch with the Mayor of Bludhaven and the DA and the Captain of the BPD.

“Of course. Now that I’ve completed the move from Gotham to Bludhaven, I only thought it was right that I get to know the town. Thank you for inviting me today, and allowing me to bring along my brothers.”

The words flowed from his mouth, affecting a perfect socialite accent, all polished and fake. The Mayor soaked it up, his eyes barely glancing over at Damian before settling back on Dick. He knew who had the power to unseat him in the upcoming election, and it wasn’t the young Wayne who couldn’t (legally) touch his inheritance yet. Dick’s smile was almost genuine this time. It was amusing how much these high class fools believed they knew about his family, when they were so oblivious that they didn’t recognize the King of Bludhaven in their midst.

“Oh, of course, of course. Family is so important, and I think it’s so good of you to take care of your younger brother. Or, uh, brothers,” the Mayor corrected hastily, sweat beading on his forehead. “Forgive me, I wasn’t aware of—”

Dick waved a hand and the man gratefully fell silent. “Damian is my brother, of course, and the young man next to him is named Jon. He’s an intern for Wayne Enterprises, but he’s dating Damian, so I like to call him my little brother because they act like a married couple. Of course, I totally forgot, Damian wanted to keep that quiet. He’s so secretive about his partners. You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“You have my word.”

Dick clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Good man.” He had no doubt that the press would have heard about Damian Wayne’s new boyfriend by the morning. It wouldn’t be a problem. Tim already had a plan.

A man in a suit was about to walk by when the Mayor (what was his name? He’d told Dick only a moment ago, but he hadn’t bothered to pay attention) grabbed his arm and presented him to Dick, who let his face melt into something warm and slightly flirtatious.

“Mr. Grayson, let me introduce you to our DA, Mateo Flores. Mateo, this is the generous new benefactor of the Zee Moores affordable housing project, Richard Grayson.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Grayson,” Flores said politely, holding his hand out.

Dick shook it. “The pleasure’s all mine. I hear that you’re the man leading the prosecution of the former underlings of Roland Desmond. It takes a brave man to go after Blockbuster’s old crew.”

Both the Mayor (he’d have to look up his name later) and the DA stiffened at the mention of Blockbuster’s name. Dick pretended not to notice, sipping from the apple juice that looked enough like alcohol. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Damian getting dragged into conversation with some of the Bludhaven socialites (if they could even be called that), Jon hovering awkwardly behind them. Oh, his little brother would be in a mood later. Dick had long ago abandoned any notions of training Damian to work a scene like this years ago. Damian’s talents leaned towards more physical activities, which he was more than happy to support.

“You, uh, know of Roland Desmond, Mr. Grayson?” the Mayor asked, sweat now rolling down his face.

“Oh, sure. His murder made so many headlines, I heard about across the bay.” He took another sip, noticing the Mayor fidget and the DA go stony. “Being from Gotham, I’m entirely sympathetic to your situation. Meta humans have a way of mucking things up, which is why I was so pleased to hear that a young, clean DA was taking up the case.” He tipped his cup towards Mateo. “If you don’t mind indulging me, I’m curious if his murder has any new suspects.”

“I’m not sure that is information I can share with—”

“Nonsense, Mateo!” the Mayor interrupted, a nervous tremor to his voice that he tried to hide under bravado. “Mr. Grayson can surely keep a secret.”

Mateo frowned, but when the Mayor didn’t relent, he folded. Dick made a mental note to send someone to check Mateo’s office later. If he was clean,  _ too  _ clean, then he could be a problem later. He might even withhold information even with the Mayor urging him on.

“No. As of yet, no suspect has been identified in the shooting of Roland Desmond. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you buy Desmond’s property?”

A grin curled at Dick’s lips as he traced the lip of his glass. Mateo met his gaze, unflinching and steady. Oh, he would need to take care of Mateo Flores before the man tried to be do something stupid like investigating a Wayne.

_ “Flores!”  _ the Mayor hissed, then turned to Dick with wide eyes. “Forgive him, Mr. Grayson, he’s—”

“Completely right,” Dick finished, not looking away from Mateo. “I did buy his property. It was in a prime location and I’d already been shopping for a suitable place to stay in the city. I considered a few apartments, but I wanted something a bit quieter, like Wayne Manor. The property’s prior ownership is regrettable, but it’s still a damn fine house.”

“See! A perfectly reasonable explanation, Mateo.”

“Of course,” the DA said, disdain dripping from his voice. “If you’ll excuse me, I see some colleagues I need to greet.”

“Certainly. I hope we meet again soon, District Attorney Flores,” he purred.

His eyes were flat. “I’m sure we will, Mr. Grayson. Goodbye.”

“I’m afraid I have to go too,” Dick said, tilting his head towards the Mayor. “My brother has piano lessons to get to. Thank you again.”

Mateo stalked off as the Mayor shook Dick’s hand energetically with his large sweaty, palm. He thought about sliding forward and dragging his dagger over the man’s thick, sweaty throat as he smiled warmly.

“The honor is all mine. I trust I’ll see you at the banquet for the new police cadets next week, Mr. Grayson?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he promised as he thought about who he could send in his place.

He barely made it two steps away before Damian fell in step with him, a steady presence at his shoulder, with the more uncertain presence of Jon a step behind them. Not breaking stride, Dick reached back and snagged Jon’s arm, pulling him forward and linking arms. The young Kryptonian looked startled but a sharp look from Damian kept him quiet.

“You’re family now, Jon,” Dick reminded him, thinking of Donna and Wally and Roy and Garth who wouldn’t be waiting outside for him like always, not while Tim was sending them about the country. “You walk with us.”

Dick kept up his smile as they made their way out of the building and to the car waiting outside. He allowed Damian to slide into the driver’s seat while he laid across the back seat. Jon hesitated before taking the passenger seat, but as soon as he climbed in, Damian shot off. His little brother always did drive like a madman. He blamed Jason’s terrible teaching and sense of self preservation.

“That was extremely tedious, Grayson,” Damian informed him.

He let his head loll back against the headrest. “I didn’t exactly enjoy it either, but we haven’t cemented our control yet.”

“You killed that Desmond oaf. What else is there?”

“Little D, you know there’s more than one way to rule a city. Taking out Desmond allowed us to take control of the underside of the city. To actually make change, we need to control the police, the city council, the court system, the prison…” He sighed. “We need to look into District Attorney Mateo Flores. He seemed suspicious of me just now, and that won’t do, not when I’ve been working for months to keep this transition as smooth as possible.”

“Does he need to be taken out?”

“No!”

Jon flushed as both Dick and Damian turned to him. Dick was impressed. Jon had mostly been a silent observer since he officially joined the family. He hadn’t expected the boy to object so directly, especially to himself, the First Prince. Then again, Damian had been insisting for a while now that Jon was more than he seemed. Maybe his little brother was right.

“It was a question, Beloved. Calm yourself.”

“You’re the one talking about assassinating a DA!” Jon snapped back. Dick grinned.

“Jonathan…” Damian growled.

“No, no,” Dick interrupted. Jon’s head swiveled to him, equal parts determination and nervousness warring on his face. “I want to hear what Jon thinks. He clearly has strong opinions on the matter.”

The boy looked unsure now, but he squared his shoulders anyways. “Killing isn’t the only way to do things, right? That’s why you guys are trying to discredit the League instead of directly attacking. And, you don’t even know for sure that this DA is onto you. Wouldn’t it make more sense to figure that out first?”

Dick laughed. Jon scrunched back, but the Prince only shook his head and then said, “You’re not great at debate, but your points are valid. Actually, Damian, why don’t you take Jon with you tonight to investigate DA Flores? It’ll be good practice.”

“Have you forgotten that the purpose of Jonathan and I’s presence in this hellhole is to protect you?” his little brother said testily.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“ _ Tt.  _ Honestly, Grayson, it’s incredible that you’ve survived this long. Besides, why aren’t you investigating Flores yourself? This spy nonsense is your area of expertise.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “True. But as the new King of Bludhaven, I have actual meetings and other business nonsense to attend to.”

“Fine. Then Jonathan will stay with you tonight. I’ll investigate Flores myself.”

Dick met Jon’s wide, innocent eyes and grinned. “Sounds fun.”


	18. Advice from the Devil

**The Present**

_“I’m here in Los Angeles, where the Titans, the famous New York supergroup, just helped authorities subdue an active shooter threat. Only one person was injured and is being treated at a nearby hospital, but the Chief of Police on the scene spoke to our local sister station a moment ago and he said that without the help of Titans, many people would have died. Now, the Titans have begun a recent social movement demanding that the Justice League, the only UN sanctioned superhero group, either step down or allow the Titans to continue operating without restriction. However, the League has maintained their stance that they believe the Titans, and their junior associates, the Teen Titans, should not be allowed to operate, despite offering little proof to substantiate their claims._

_“This feud has not slowed down the operations of the Titans. In fact, they’ve been more active than ever. Both teams have been seen all across the country with a new heroic act each day. They’ve apprehended three members of the criminal organization known as the Fearsome Five in the last two days alone. And let me tell you, here in LA, the Titans are more popular than ever.”_

The sound cut out. Dick tossed the remote onto the coffee table, remaining perched on the back of the sofa. Jon, too, stayed in his place hovering by the door. Damian was out again this morning on some vague business, leaving Jon with the King of Bludhaven. Again. Jon had spent more of the last week with Dick than Damian and it had been...strange.

First of all, they were staying in a mansion. The penthouse in Gotham had been opulent, but this was something else. Massive and fortified, every inch oozing decadence, from the golden chandeliers to the silver dinner plates. Jon was still extremely uncomfortable with such needless displays of wealth after growing up on a farm. But his reservations about Dick’s mansion were nothing compared to his reservations about Dick himself.

There was something missing from the oldest Prince. He switched between vacant and angry and elated at superspeed. He was brutally terrifying and unflinchingly cold when dealing with the mob bosses and smugglers and drug dealers who came bowing and scraping at his feet, yet all smiles and charm when politicians and law enforcement visited. Jon couldn’t figure him out, and despite Damian’s obvious love for his older brother, Jon didn’t trust him.

“They’re having so much fun without me,” Dick sighed, head propped on his hand. “Still, it looks like Timmy’s plan is working. That’ll make B happy.”

“Aren’t you concerned?” Jon said, then bit his tongue when the Prince levelled a gaze at him with his intense, blue eyes. However, when he stayed silent, Jon kept talking. “I mean, you’re their leader. What if something happens and you’re not there?”

Dick tilted his head, staring at Jon like he was a fascinating subject under a microscope. The teen tried not to react, even if wanted to turn away or jump out the window and soar up, up, and away from those eyes.

“Not at all. I’m going to let you in on a little secret, kiddo.” He leaned forward, feet braced on the couch and elbows on his knees. “They don’t need me.”

“What?” Jon couldn’t hold the exclamation in, even knowing that he was playing into Dick’s hands.

Dick tipped his head back and laughed. “C’mon, kid, think about it. Donna is an Amazon, Wally can run faster than the speed of sound, Garth was Arthur’s heir to the throne, and Roy is the world’s best archer and was Oliver Queen’s heir. They all would have been fine on their own. Donna is a great leader on her own. So what do I do?”

Jon stared at him for a minute. Every time he thought he knew how a conversation with the Prince was going to go, they ended up here.

But he did think about it. And his mind flashed back to sitting next to Damian in a fast car, whipping through the streets of Gotham. Pieces started to tumble together.

“It’s not about being the strongest,” he began slowly. Outside the luxurious room they were in, rain pounded on the walls of the mansion, turning the world gray. “It’s about being a symbol, being someone the others trust and _want_ to follow. The Titans are all amazing heroes on their own, but they’re better together. And they only come together for you.”

He was rewarded with a smile as bright as a fresh spray of blood. “I knew Damian didn’t just like you because you’re pretty.”

Jon jumped a bit as a far off lightning struck the sea. He doubted Dick could even hear it, although he never would have reacted even if he could.

“My brothers seem to think that you’re going to be the new leader of the Justice League once we depose them.”

The teen’s eyes snapped to the Prince, but he remained as nonchalant as ever. Supposedly, Dick had a meeting with a high ranking member of the Senate in less than an hour, but he was wearing a loose blue shirt and dark jeans, his feet bare. Jon, in contrast, was wearing the designer outfit that had appeared in his wardrobe that morning, along with one of Damian’s ornate knives to signify who bought it. He was under no delusion who had more power though.

“Damian told me that he thinks I should do it,” Jon said. Why was he still talking? He didn’t trust Dick.

The man grinned like he knew what Jon was thinking. “Damian would like that. He likes power.”

“I’m not powerful. I’m fourteen.”

“What does age have to do with anything? You’re the son of Superman. You can shoot lasers out of your eyes and survive in space without equipment. And now you’re family. I’d say you’re pretty powerful.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. Dick braced against the back of the couch with one hand, kicked himself up into a handstand on the back of the couch, then let his feet fall, landing on the floor with barely a thump.

“I can see your little brain working so hard, it’s giving me a headache. Tell me what’s on your mind, kiddo.”

“Why would I tell you?” Jon said before he could stop himself.

Dick laughed, all delight and shiny teeth. “You sound like Damian. You’re not wrong, either, but think about it: I don’t care what you choose to do. Damian and Tim think that you’re our only viable pick to lead the League, but I don’t agree. If you do, yay, that’ll make my brothers happy. If you don’t, there are other avenues. Damian knows what he wants and he’ll say whatever he can to get you to agree. I won’t. So, when you think about that, I am actually the best choice to talk this out with.”

Jon hated to admit it, but he wasn’t wrong. Jon was only close to Damian in this new, tangled family he’d accidentally found himself a part of, and this was the one matter which Jon couldn’t trust his boyfriend with. He already knew what Damian would say.

“Fine, I guess. I’ve never operated as a hero, in any capacity before, and I’ve definitely never led anyone before. I’m incredibly unqualified to lead the Justice League. I’m not like my dad.” The words poured out of him in a flood of repressed insecurities and late-night worries. To his amazement, Dick’s eyes were focused on him and he was _present._ Jon couldn’t pinpoint what the change was, but he knew that something _had_ and that Dick was going to take this seriously.

“I’d never led a team before my Titans, and the same applied to Tim,” Dick pointed out. “And your dad never led a team before the League. We all gotta start somewhere. As for operating as a hero, with your skillset, training is almost redundant, although I’m sure Damian will make you train anyway if you agree.”

“I’ll still be years behind in experience compared to everyone else I’m supposed to be leading!”

“That’s true.”

Jon expected more after that statement, but none came, and then he felt like an idiot because it wasn’t like Dick was trying to console him or assuage his fears; he was just acting as a nonpartisan sounding board. Another doubt sprung into his mind, and although he had a feeling Dick would sneer at him, he was committed to this now. He needed to get all of these thoughts out of his head.

“And I don’t think I can kill. I mean, I know that you guys do, sometimes, but my parents didn’t raise me that way. I can’t do it.”

“Who said you have to kill?”

He blinked. “What?”

“We told you we want you to lead the Justice League. We never said you have to kill someone.”

“But you all do. The team I’d be leading would.”

“Oh sure. We’re all murderers,” he said flippantly and Jon looked around, as if there was anyone to overhear. Or anyone in the mansion who would be surprised if they heard that. “But we _choose_ to be murderers. Damian was raised to believe that he has the right to kill those lesser than him. Jason simply enjoys killing criminals for his own vindictive reasons. I kill because I can. But we choose. So do our Titans. We pick our targets and we don’t kill when it’s not necessary or beneficial. If you don’t want to, fine, whatever. You’re a Kryptonian, you can get away with allowing someone to unload a clip on you. Not all of us are so lucky.

“Anyways, the point of this is that we’re not going to make you. We can’t make you, actually. The real question is can you stomach your team killing from time to time?”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, then froze.

 _I don’t know?_ he thought, chills creeping up his arms. Killing had never been in question before. Killing was bad, no buts or ifs about it. His parents had drilled that in his head for as long as he could remember. But Damian had a point too (not Dick; Dick was a sociopath and his parents had been right about him). Maybe sometimes people did deserve to die. He felt bad for even thinking it, but the thought stuck.

“I know a moral dilemma when I see one, even if I’ve never had one,” Dick said, flicking back his hair. “Then here’s my advice, kiddo: don’t decide anything till you can answer that question. Now I have a meeting with the esteemed senator. How bout you fly yourself to the casino and clear your head? We don’t have to mention it to Damian.”

“He told me not to leave you alone.” The thought of flying was tempting, though. Like Gotham, Bludhaven was covered in a perennial fog, blotting out the sun. It’d be nice to fly into the stratosphere for a minute to feel the rays on his face.

“It’s for a few minutes and I’ve survived this long without a Kryptonian bodyguard. Go.”

He didn’t put up any more protest.

* * *

Seated in the backseat of a fast car and wearing a fresh suit courtesy of Alfred’s impeccable eye, Dick twirled an escrima stick in his hand and grinned at his two passengers.

“Flores was clean,” Damian confirmed, brushing his hand over the lead lined interior of the car. “Too clean. He came into power during the tumult following Blockbuster’s execution and he hasn’t been on the take for _anyone._ We already discussed the contents of his office. However, I found this peasant watching me from a rooftop across from Flores’ office.”

He hummed. His eyes wandered away from his brother and to the dark-haired woman in a hideous orange outfit chained to the seat with a bloody gag in her mouth. Damian had cut the cowl off her face, and now a bleeding red gash stretched from her smooth forehead, along the edge of her eye and all the way to her jaw. Dick noticed that this had done little to affect her beauty, even with an ugly bruise blooming on her other cheek. She was gagged, but the intensity of her glare left him with no doubt that she’d be cussing him out if she could talk.

“She called herself Tarantula.” Damian snorted.

“You’ve never had an appreciation for codenames.”

“It’s cowardly.”

“You wanna be the one to tell B that?” Dick laughed as his brother scowled. He tilted his head at the woman. “I’m guessing you named yourself after the hero from the forties and the fifties who went by the same moniker. So, you think you’re some kind of heroic vigilante, then, right?”

She jerked viciously against her chains. Damian grabbed her hair and slammed her head back. He grimaced when he saw that some of her blood had stained his hand. Dick offered up his own handkerchief as Damian was still in his assassin uniform, although he’d unfortunately removed his gloves.

“She’s not very friendly, is she? Do we know her name?”

The youngest Prince sneered. “This is Catalina Flores, the younger sister of Bludhaven’s District Attorney Mateo Flores. Miss Flores doesn’t seem to share her brother’s respect for the law, however.”

“Interesting. They’re close, I take it?”

“Definitely. I recognized her simply from the amount of pictures of her in her brother’s office. Drake also found some files to point to the fact DA Flores has covered up some former infractions of the law of his younger sister. He’s broken his own clean record to keep hers pristine.”

“How sweet,” Dick cooed, grinning at Catalina. Her eyes were still dazed from getting her head slammed.

“What do you want to do with her?”

What to do, what to do, what to do. He knew what he _wanted_ to do; he wanted to see if her blood was just as vibrant if it bleed from her heart as her face. He wanted to remove her gag and hear her foul mouth as he ended her. Or maybe he wanted to drag her to Gotham and let Jason work on her. Sometimes Jason took too long with people, savored their agony too much when all Dick wanted to see was red, red, red (like his parent’s blood on the circus floor).

“If her brother cares so much, he won’t risk her safety. If we have her, it should be simple enough to get him to turn a blind eye our way. But your boytoy will be a problem. He’ll hear or see or smell or whatever the hell it is he does if she’s anywhere in the mansion.”

Damian tipped his head. “Then it's a good thing that the mansion isn’t our only property. And that we have a property that already has the appropriate defenses in place.”

“Mr. Grayson, sir, we’ve nearly arrived at the casino,” the driver called through the barrier separating the front from the backseat.

“Pull around back,” he ordered. He felt the car turn not a second later. His eyes drifted back to Damian and Catalina. Her blood was beginning to dry and crack on her face. “I need to go meet with this senator guy. Tim swears he’s important to the plan.” He let all his doubt creep into his voice, then shrugged, adjusting his cuffs. “Take her to the place. Don’t hurt her anymore unless she causes trouble. Good treatment. We don’t want her brother to think we’re unreasonable.”

“I’ll handle it. Deal with the senator. I’ll be back at the mansion by the time you return with Jonathan.”

Dick paused with his hand on the door. “That reminds me. I left a magazine I think you might be interested in on the seat.”

Damian turned the magazine towards him, not bothering to pick it up. Dick laughed as a grimace spread across his brother’s face. Catalina was now looking at them as if they were crazy. Dick thought it might be warranted.

In bold letters, the magazine proclaimed “YOUNGEST WAYNE GOES OUT WITH FIRST BEAU.” It was accompanied by a picture taken from afar of Jon and Damian dressed up and standing side by side. Not particularly interesting, but some things were better left to the imagination. Or so Steph had claimed when Dick had asked about it. Since she was the media expert, he’d acquiesced.

“I can kill you, Grayson,” Damian snapped, shoving the magazine away with a look of disgust.

Dick swung the door open. “But you won’t. Bye, little D.”


End file.
